Panem
by gethsemane342
Summary: It is the people who make the country and thus it is the people who should be examined. A series of 44 oneshots, featuring most names on the character list plus a few extras. Would be every name but it was written before the list updated.
1. Annie Cresta: Hedge

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Hunger Games_.

**Reply to _Karen_: **I have no idea if you will read this but, if you are: thanks for telling me. I wasn't incredibly angry (I often sound angrier than I am )) and as I said, I am flattered. It was mainly because this was the second or third time someone's told me about my work being translated when I've had no idea about it myself. If I want to use someone else's work/ideas for anything, I always ask first so I found it annoying that a lot of people wouldn't do the same back. If you do want to translate anything I write in future, go for it - just drop me a message first so I don't find myself suddenly being directed to my writing in a different language ;)

**A/n:** This is a series of oneshots. Each oneshot features, in order, a person from the character list on this site as well as a few i felt should be there (Boggs, Coin, Caesar, Cashmere, Gloss, Marvel and Maysilee) each with a randomly picked prompt (or as random as i could manage without throwing actual darts at my poor old dictionary!). Updates will be one a day (hopefully) though when i go back to uni, this might change. Anyway, i hope you enjoy! As always, any criticism, just shout it out. Any advice on law, shout it out louder!

Panem

1) Annie Cresta – Hedge

The arena was a maze and they had been in it for days. She could just imagine how they looked to the Capitol – ants, crawling around hedge-filled pathways with the occasional river or stream nearby. Nothing to let them know where other tributes were. No real way out as far as they could tell though maybe they had walked in circles. Nothing to mark their way. Just hedges and rivers and streams.

Varni had become her friend, against all odds, and he helped her cope. Maybe it was too obvious to the other tributes they were allied with or maybe they just disliked his cocky attitude but on the eighth day, Varni and Quin argued. Soon enough, they were fighting. And Annie was screaming for them to stop while Amber drew her sword, looking for a way to end the fight, but found no opening. Carat and Galba simply watched.

Quin swung her axe. Almost in slow motion, Varni's head fell and rolled into the hedge while his body collapsed.

Annie screamed.

She'd seen twelve deaths already. Maybe she could have coped with a thirteenth but her thoughts were already plagued with those she'd helped to kill and this ... this was Varni! Varni who would never admit to being wrong unless he'd offended you. Varni who threatened everyone but stayed with the weakest people in case they needed help...

... It was like waking from a dream. She found herself next to Varni's headless corpse and the mutilated body of Quin. There was no one else nearby though her arm was bleeding heavily...

... All she could see were hedges, containing Varni's head and the girl from eleven's arm and blood dripping from every leaf...

... The ground was shaking but the leaves were standing still while Quin swung at her with an axe...

... Water, water, everywhere and filled to the top with blood and spiders. Kick, kick, just kick...

... "Ladies and Gentlemen, the winner of the 70th Hunger Games – Annie Cresta from District 4!"...

... A hovercraft picked her up and she screamed because they were coming after her. All of them...

Blackout.


	2. Avox Girl: Urgency

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Hunger Games_.

**A/n:** This is a series of oneshots. Each oneshot features, in order, a person from the character list on this site as well as a few i felt should be there (Boggs, Coin, Caesar, Cashmere, Gloss, Marvel and Maysilee) each with a randomly picked prompt (or as random as i could manage without throwing actual darts at my poor old dictionary!). Updates will be one a day (hopefully) though when i go back to uni, this might change. Anyway, i hope you enjoy! As always, any criticism, just shout it out. Any advice on law, shout it out louder!

2) Avox Girl (Lavinia) – Urgency

She guessed that there was an ulterior motive for assigning this new avox – Darius – to serve District 12 with her almost as soon as she found out. She didn't need the help: she had managed it by herself last year and nothing had gone wrong, apart from Katniss Everdeen attempting to destroy her room. And since the Capitol disliked Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark, improving their standard of service seemed absurd.

So there had to be another reason. Although she had learnt long ago not to question other avoxes past lives and certainly not to question the Capitol, she was curious. But she had never asked and he didn't attempt to explain it to her. She spent the time in which she prepared the room wondering what the ulterior motive was.

As they waited for the Quarter Quell tributes to arrive, it suddenly occurred to her how obvious the answer was. This man had been assigned with her because he knew at least one of the two tributes. Maybe it would unhinge them in some way to see him. That was the only plausible explanation.

She had to warn them, then, she realised. Stop them from being played by the Capitol somehow. Maybe she didn't exactly owe them anything but meeting Katniss again last year had sparked some sort of connection to them. Something which made her need to help them – especially if they could overthrow the Capitol. So she needed to warn them. But how?

She had no idea.

_They'll hate you being here_, she signed to him, hoping that this would encourage him to suddenly come up with a brilliant plan.

_I know,_ was all her signed back. She was disappointed for a moment but one look at his face told her that he, too, was trying to think of a way to warn them. And he had nothing. So they stood and waited, the feeling of urgency rising higher. They had to warn them ... there was no way to warn them.

It was just like so many moments in her life. It was the day she ran away and gave Ludens' name to the cleaner as an explanation for where she and her brother were going that day. No way to warn him and he died, protecting them for reasons he didn't know about. It was being in the woods and trying to get Katniss Everdeen and her friend to save them. No way to communicate the desperateness of the situation. Tarquin died and she ended up here with no tongue and a burning desire to destroy the Capitol.

The door opened and the mentor, escort and tributes walked in. Her heart sank at their expressions. This was _exactly_ like every other time in her life. She'd worked it out too late. She'd needed to tell them and had come up with nothing. And now, someone was going to pay the price.


	3. Beetee: Noose

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Hunger Games_.

**A/n:** This is a series of oneshots. Each oneshot features, in order, a person from the character list on this site as well as a few i felt should be there (Boggs, Coin, Caesar, Cashmere, Gloss, Marvel and Maysilee) each with a randomly picked prompt (or as random as i could manage without throwing actual darts at my poor old dictionary!). Updates will be one a day (hopefully) though when i go back to uni, this might change. Anyway, i hope you enjoy! As always, any criticism, just shout it out. Any advice on law, shout it out louder!

3) Beetee – Noose

Beetee keeps running, hurriedly attaching the wires to the trees. He can't stop. Not yet.

His finger slips, causing him to drop the wire. Swearing under his breath, he grabs it and quickly ties it to the branch. If he doesn't hurry up, they'll catch him and kill him. He has to do this. Now.

More wire tied to the tree. He pulls the rope and wire tighter, listening for the footsteps coming ever closer. For a brief second, he wonders whether he's mistaking it with his own, wildly thumping heart. Then he wonders whether they can hear it too. But he isn't worried about sound because this plan involves them chasing him. He turns and runs to the energy box. He just has to jam this insulated end in...

"There he is!"

"Get him!"

Beetee grabs the energy box and runs again, through the trees, ducking and praying that neither boy has noticed this action. Just like he expected, they don't see the wires, attached to nearby trees. They run into them and curse, trying to free themselves. He uses their confusion to jam the end of the wire into the box.

Their bodies start to jerk. One boy had the wire in his hand, moving it above his head, and Beetee can see his face clearly. He looks away at the other boy as though this death may, somehow, be better. This boy ran straight into the wire which was at neck height and it has looped around him in some horrific, electrifying noose. For a split second, his eyes meet Beetee's. Then he falls, twitching and screaming.

Two cannons fire. Beetee searches for something he can say about the two teenagers he has just killed. But there's nothing he can say which wouldn't shock him to his core. The sight of the boy and his electric noose has burned its way onto his brain, as has the smell of the boy who hung onto the wire.

As the hovercraft comes to pick him up and the people of the Capitol cheer him, his eyes stay fixated on their corpses, still riddled with spasms. The first boy's hand is still spread out, as though he is being crucified. The noose boy is almost hovering, supported by the wire.

The savagery of what he has just done scares him and he vows never to harness the power of technology to kill anyone else. Ever.


	4. Boggs: Graph

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Hunger Games_.

**A/n:** This is a series of oneshots. Each oneshot features, in order, a person from the character list on this site as well as a few i felt should be there (Boggs, Coin, Caesar, Cashmere, Gloss, Marvel and Maysilee) each with a randomly picked prompt (or as random as i could manage without throwing actual darts at my poor old dictionary!). Updates will be one a day (hopefully) though when i go back to uni, this might change. Anyway, i hope you enjoy! As always, any criticism, just shout it out. Any advice on law, shout it out louder!

4) Boggs – Graph

_Set about thirty years before Mockingjay_

"I don't get it," Boggs mutters to his friend as they leave the classroom, ready to enjoy the ten minute break.

"What don't you get?"

He wrinkles his brow in frustration. "Alright, so the Capitol want to bomb us," he begins hesitantly.

"Yes."

"And _we_ want to get rid of the Capitol."

"Yes."

"So explain to me again why we don't just nuke them before they do anything to us?"

His friend rolls his eyes and walks back into the room. Boggs turns and follows him. His friend brings up a graph on screen which they have just spent the last hour staring at (it's about ten years out of date but this doesn't stop them). Boggs already regrets asking.

"OK," his friend says in a weary voice, "this is the current population of District 13, right?" Boggs nods, looking at the indicated part of the graph and ignoring the fact that the current population has probably changed by now. "And this is the population of Panem, not including us. More of them than there are of us. If we nuke 'em, the radiation would cover _this_ radius." He clicks and a map comes up on screen.

"Radius, right, right," Boggs says, nodding to show that he is keeping up.

"And _this_ graph shows how many people would die or become infertile, right?" His friend looks at him. The exasperation on his face is still there.

"Yeah." Boggs looks at the steep decline on the graph. He thinks he might understand this, _finally_.

"And _this_ graph shows how our population would decline if we continue the way we do."

OK. Now there were too many graphs...

"If we mix the two together, like _this_-" Another click. "- then the population would hold steady like this..." Point. "...But then the radiation would spread to _this_ and so _this_ amount would become infertile."

It looked like two graphs had decided to get married. Or had grown several different arms. He couldn't work out what any of the lines were supposed to _mean_.

"And, bearing in mind the limitations _we_ have on our gene pool, the population would start to fall. And eventually..."

"It goes flat! So we're all dead!" Boggs says triumphantly.

"Exactly!" His friend grins. "So you understand it."

Boggs laughs. "No. Just that the end is we all die."

His friend groans. "What didn't you understand?"

"I got it up until we put us and them together." Boggs pulls a face. "Never mind. I'll just go along with it anyway."

His friend rolls his eyes. "You're impossible, Boggs. You might need to know this one day."

"I'll just give you a shout when that day comes." He laughs. "Come on, are they ever going to put me in charge of anything _remotely_ dangerous?"

His friend looks at him and grins. "No, you're right. Come on, we have to get to the next class."


	5. Brutus: Easel

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Hunger Games_.

**A/n:** This is a series of oneshots. Each oneshot features, in order, a person from the character list on this site as well as a few i felt should be there (Boggs, Coin, Caesar, Cashmere, Gloss, Marvel and Maysilee) each with a randomly picked prompt (or as random as i could manage without throwing actual darts at my poor old dictionary!). Updates will be one a day (hopefully) though when i go back to uni, this might change. Anyway, i hope you enjoy! As always, any criticism, just shout it out. Any advice on law, shout it out louder!

5) Brutus – Easel

It was funny, he thought, as he stood in his Victor's House. He had to have a talent and this easel was what had been provided for him by his family. He could remember drawing and painting things almost as soon as he could hold a brush or pencil. And he could remember his father taking his paintings and ripping them up, in front of his eyes.

He was to be a victor, he was told. Not some artist who could bring no money or honour to the family. No dreaming away his life and ending up in the mines. Do something useful. Train for the Hunger Games or at least work to become a Peacekeeper.

Every time he was caught, drawing or painting, he was beaten and his work destroyed. Until, one day, he simply stopped. His parents had never been happier with him and that, in turn, made him happy. He threw himself into training, looking for more ways to please his parents.

Eventually, he volunteered for the Hunger Games and won by being the strongest and most cunning tribute. Maybe there was a time when he would have been ashamed of what he had done in the arena; but that person had disappeared with the painter inside him. When he looked back on his Games, he was nothing short of smug. He had outfought everyone and put on a show. Six kills to his name – impressive. And now all the money he could want.

But he needed a talent!

He looked again at the easel which his sister had left for him in the entrance hall. A frank suggestion. They all knew he could draw so he should just get on with it and start painting since there was obviously nothing else he could do. It would save time and effort and if he kept it to a minimum, no one would care. Besides, he'd loved to do it as a child. Consider it a reward. That was what they were saying.

He looked at the paper, laid ready, and the nearby brushes. Slowly, he picked one up and dipped it in the paint.

He put the brush down again.

There was no way he could do it. To start painting was to bring back years and years of beatings and unhappiness that he couldn't do what he wanted. Years of disappointing his parents. This was his way of being stupid as a kid. But he wasn't a kid now – he was a Hunger Games victor.

Mindlessly, he took the easel and broke it.

He'd just have to think of something else.


	6. Caesar Flickerman: Remorse

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Hunger Games_.

**A/n:** This is a series of oneshots. Each oneshot features, in order, a person from the character list on this site as well as a few i felt should be there (Boggs, Coin, Caesar, Cashmere, Gloss, Marvel and Maysilee) each with a randomly picked prompt (or as random as i could manage without throwing actual darts at my poor old dictionary!). Updates will be one a day (hopefully) though when i go back to uni, this might change. Anyway, i hope you enjoy! As always, any criticism, just shout it out. Any advice on law, shout it out louder!

And, i promise, there are some cheerful ones coming up :)

6) Caesar Flickerman – Remorse

"Can't you even show _some_ remorse?"

Caesar looks at the rebel pointing a gun at him. He's just been treated to a lecture on how the Capitol is going to fall and all those who helped the Hunger Games run will die. People like him, of course, not people like Johanna Mason. They were simply forced into helping. People like him obviously _enjoyed_ what they did.

"I could," Caesar says calmly, "but I won't."

The reason is simple, he thinks. On screen, he displays every emotion under the sun. Every feeling people know, he has shown to the citizens of Panem. Anger, sadness, happiness, love, hate. Constantly changing his opinions, his face, his tone, to the point that even _he_ isn't sure who he is and what he thinks.

Today, he is clearly the Capitol henchman who fully advocates the Hunger Games. Just another guise for him to take on. He can't remember what he thinks about the Hunger Games. But getting into character ... he must love them.

Well ... they gave him a job, he supposes. And he certainly meets new people.

"What do you mean?" the rebel spits out.

"I'm not faking anything for you."

Would it be faking? He isn't sure. Sometimes, he thinks he hates who he is. Talking to all these children and then watching them die. But he enjoys watching the Games. And what has he done that is so bad that he must be remorseful? His job? Tried to keep these kids alive? Or is it placing Peeta Mellark in front of Panem and helping him to damn the rebels' cause?

"You're disgusting."

He's been that and more. Just ask him to act out anything and he'll do it. But not anymore. This is the end of it all and he's not feigning one more emotion for anyone. Let them kill him. He doesn't know who he would be in this new world anyway.

He nods. "Ooh, what a shame," he says in his talkshow voice. Die the way he lived: not knowing what on earth he's doing. "I guess that's all we have time for so let's wrap this up." Then, to stop the faking: "Just pull the trigger."

The rebel shoots. Caesar collapses as the bullet penetrates his chest. He lies there, not breathing or moving. Dead.

There is no expression on his face.


	7. Cashmere: Grout

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Hunger Games_.

**A/n:** This is a series of oneshots. Each oneshot features, in order, a person from the character list on this site as well as a few i felt should be there (Boggs, Coin, Caesar, Cashmere, Gloss, and Marvel) each with a randomly picked prompt (or as random as i could manage without throwing actual darts at my poor old dictionary!). Updates will be one a day (hopefully) though when i go back to uni, this might change. Anyway, i hope you enjoy! As always, any criticism, just shout it out. Any advice on law, shout it out louder!

_Caisha702_, please try not to kill me by the end of this.

7) Cashmere – Grout

What is the last thing you expect Cashmere Ludovik to do in her spare time? Ruling out all of the fantastic impossibilities that you can think of, such as skydiving into a volcano. Well, if you look at her, you would probably have 'manual labour' somewhere in your list of things you don't think she'd be doing. That being said, you also would probably not think she is a deadly killer and considering she won the Hunger Games four years ago, we can safely say you would be wrong.

Anyway: manual labour. Not the sort of thing you would expect her to do in all of her free time. Especially considering her house is nigh on perfect. And, unlike the deadly killer thing, you would be completely correct. So one of the final things Gloss expects to see when he walks out of his house in Victors' village is his older sister, patiently grouting the wall of her house.

(It isn't the _last_ thing he expects to see. The very last thing would be far more controversial and would (probably) be an activity less possible to do than grouting)

"Cashmere?"

She looks up. "Hello, Gloss," she says politely.

It is best to add now that the siblings are not close. An argument involving volunteering for the Hunger Games and a misplaced (and childish) 'I hate you' does wonders for separating two inseparable people.

"What are you doing?" he asks.

Her face is closed. Normal people would associate it with a secret someone doesn't want to tell. Gloss decides that it is embarrassment. The other thing arguing does wonders for is making you constantly see false motives in the person you argued with.

"Grouting the wall," she answers as though this is something she does every day.

"Why?" Gloss frowns. "It doesn't need it."

"Well ... I guess I thought..."

They look at each other in silence. It's ridiculous. They've fallen into an awkward silence over the state of Cashmere's wall. Probably the best thing to do now would be for Gloss to nod and then to leave for wherever it is he was going to.

Gloss isn't the sort of person who does what is expected of him though. No other person would volunteer for the Hunger Games, just to demonstrate how betrayed they felt when their older sister volunteered. This probably shows a bit of insanity, among other things, but the point is that Gloss never does anything conventionally.

"This is because you went to the Capitol, isn't it?" he says.

"What?" Cashmere – who has had twenty-one years to get used to her brother's way of asking things randomly – is thrown.

"The Capitol. You're always upset when you come back."

"No, I-"

"Well, I can understand that," Gloss says, pulling his usual trick of ignoring whatever it is his sister is going to say. Cashmere – not usually someone to be ignored – stays silent. "If your trips are anything like mine." He looks her in the eye. "Are they like mine?"

At first, she isn't going to answer. Cashmere doesn't talk about her problems. But nor does Gloss and it doesn't appear as though he will leave until she's given an honest answer (being her little brother, Gloss has the annoying ability to tell when she's lying). She looks at her grouting (which, curious observers may be interested to know, is so badly done that all it does is demonstrate Cashmere's lack of talent) as she asks, "Do yours involve new lovers and huge amounts of money, Gloss?"

"Yes." He bends down. The other thing you wouldn't imagine Cashmere (or Gloss, for that matter) doing is sitting in the dirt. "Exactly that. And it's worse for you, isn't it? You were always more popular than me."

"What did you come here to talk about?" she asks wearily, trying to get off the subject.

"Nothing originally," he replies, "until I saw you grouting. Now ... I'm staying here to talk about our new lovers. And why our parents shouldn't be the only people who 'my loved ones' applies to."

They lock eyes. He opens his arms. For a second, Cashmere hesitates and then she leans forward and embraces her younger brother. Their first heartfelt hug in four years. Four years too long.


	8. Cato: Antihero

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Hunger Games_.

**A/n:** This is a series of oneshots. Each oneshot features, in order, a person from the character list on this site as well as a few i felt should be there (Boggs, Coin, Caesar, Cashmere, Gloss, and Marvel) each with a randomly picked prompt (or as random as i could manage without throwing actual darts at my poor old dictionary!). Updates will be one a day (hopefully) though when i go back to uni, this might change. Anyway, i hope you enjoy! As always, any criticism, just shout it out. Any advice on law, shout it out louder!

8) Cato – Anti-hero

_You probably think you're here so I can train you to be a hero. Kill the bad guys and save the day, right?_

"Cato! Cato!"

"Clove!"

_Get those thoughts out of your head now, Cato. To win the Hunger Games, you have to be ruthless. Anything goes. You're _not_ the good guy here. You're the one everyone fears._

Run. Got to run. Screw the other tributes. Screw Lover boy and Everdeen. They're not important. I have to get there. Get to Clove.

_I don't care what you think, Cato. Those bedtime stories you like? Bull. The hero _never_ wins. It's always the villain. So just listen to my advice and you'll get out of that arena alive_.

She's been knocked down by Thresh. No. No. She's alive. She's got to be alive and I'll prove it! We're going to win and get out of this arena. Both of us.

_"But heroes are smart and brave and talented. Just like a winner."_

_And so are anti-heroes, Cato_.

So close to the feast. She's just lying there. Should she be lying there?

"Clove, stay with me!"

No response. But no cannon. She's alive.

_"Well, if both are smart and talented and brave, why can't I be a hero anyway?"_

_Because the hero will _always_ lose. No good people win the Games._

She's barely breathing. I check her pulse. Almost nothing. A dent in her head.

She isn't dying, goddammit!

"Stay with me, Clove," I growl. "We're winning this thing. I told you I'd save you and you said you'd save me. So stay here!"

_You want to know my last reason for telling you not to be a hero? Heroes do stupid things, Cato. They get themselves killed. More than that, they feel they have to take revenge. And that's because they get themselves involved with people. You feel something for someone, you end up dead. You're your only friend in that arena._

The cannon fires. I let go of her hand. What's the point? She's dead.

"Thresh," I growl. I imagine all sorts of things I can do to him. But none of them seem enough. How can I make him feel how I feel right now? "Thresh!" A yell, loud enough to scare birds from the trees over a hundred metres away.

_I know you're listening, Cato. Trust me, it's all for the better._

I pick up my spear and run towards the corn field. I don't give a damn about what my trainer said – about not caring for people, about only thinking of myself. Trying to ignore Clove made me miserable. Thinking only about victory got her killed. I'm sick of being the bad guy. Time to be a hero.


	9. Chaff: Maggot

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Hunger Games_.

**A/n:** This is a series of oneshots. Each oneshot features, in order, a person from the character list on this site as well as a few i felt should be there (Boggs, Coin, Caesar, Cashmere, Gloss, and Marvel) each with a randomly picked prompt (or as random as i could manage without throwing actual darts at my poor old dictionary!). Updates will be one a day (hopefully) though when i go back to uni, this might change. Anyway, i hope you enjoy! As always, any criticism, just shout it out. Any advice on law, shout it out louder!

On a side-note, if anyone is any good at hitchhiking and wants to share their secrets with me, i'd appreciate it. I've decided to get around by hitchhiking in future.

9) Chaff – Maggot

It takes a lot to bring a man out of a self-induced drunken stupor – almost as much as it takes to get said man _in_ a drunken stupor. Chaff had known that drinking that amount was a stupid idea but he did it anyway. Every day of the Hunger Games since Radu had been killed. Another death which he couldn't stop.

But drinking on the train back to District 11 was unforgiveable. Seeder took away his bottles after an hour or so. That was unforgiveable too but she, at least, had a good reason for doing it. By the time they arrived, he had sobered up enough to be tipsy only. Better than anyone could have hoped for.

The exit into District 11 was always painful. How exactly does one face the family of someone you were supposed to save and say 'Sorry. Sorry, I tried but I couldn't do it and now I have to pretend it was for some greater good'? It was never something Chaff had mastered. But, usually, he had the grace to face it stone-cold sober. Not today. Because, usually, it wasn't his miscalling the depth of an injury which killed the tribute.

The families were waiting there, of course. Seeder led the way because people were less likely to lynch _her_ – Sorina had been killed in the opening bloodbath which was something Seeder couldn't have prevented. But when Chaff stepped onto that platform, he could already see the accusing glares. Oh, not everybody in the crowd. There were those who could sympathise with the immense pressure he had been under. Those who thought maybe he had had no money. Even members of Radu's family seemed understanding.

But there were glares there.

As per usual, he made his way to the grieving family, to apologise for their loss. All the while that he spoke, he wanted to say more – to apologise for his own stupidity. But mentors never did that. And the family simply thanked him for trying. Except for Radu's little sister.

"You're drunk," she announced. "I can smell it. Is that why Radu's dead?" No answer. "You're a ... you're a ... you're a maggot!"

"Hush, dear," someone – the mother – said and pulled her away. But now the accusing glares really set in. He wanted to call after her and tell her that her daughter was right. He was a maggot. Or lower. Much lower. It was all his fault. Not what the district believed. They'd had money for bandages. It was his own stupidity.

But maggots don't shout out their guilt.

Chaff and Seeder made their way to the Victors' village, neither saying a word until they reached Chaff's door.

"Goodbye, Chaff," Seeder said.

He looked at her.

"I messed up," he answered.

"I know." Silence. "Everyone makes mistakes, Chaff. Don't wallow in guilt."

"Simple mistakes don't end in someone's death."

"Sometimes, they do. You'll remember in future."

There was nothing to say to that. So he went inside to drink this memory away. Try to forget how he had messed up so he could live with himself. Even though Seeder had told him to remember it.

He paused as he looked at the bottle in his hand. A maggot would drink it and force himself to forget the mistake he had made. A human would stay sober that night and force himself to remember the mistake he had made. After all; maggots have short memories and rarely feel guilty. Humans don't.

What should he do? Live in guilt or live in innocence? Learn and have another death on his conscience or forget and maybe have some moments of happiness in his future? Move the bottle up to his mouth or down upon the table.

He thought it through. Slowly, he began to move the bottle.


	10. Cinna: Equation

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Hunger Games_.

**A/n:** This is a series of oneshots. Each oneshot features, in order, a person from the character list on this site as well as a few i felt should be there (Boggs, Coin, Caesar, Cashmere, Gloss, and Marvel) each with a randomly picked prompt (or as random as i could manage without throwing actual darts at my poor old dictionary!). Updates will be one a day (hopefully) though when i go back to uni, this might change. Anyway, i hope you enjoy! As always, any criticism, just shout it out. Any advice on law, shout it out louder!

A oneshot of questionable quality...

10) Cinna – Equation

His hands work swiftly, eyes flickering back and forth from the dress to the sketch. The sketch portrays a girl in several different poses: standing, sitting, getting up and twirling. Everything about the dress is included. Much as he tries, he can't stop his gaze from constantly flickering to the final sketches – where the girl is no longer a bride but a bird. A mockingjay.

He forces his eyes back to his work. This may well be his greatest creation yet. It's certainly the one he's put the most effort into and that may explain why it could be his last creation too. He takes his emotions and puts them into his work. And this dress ... well, it's simple: President Snow and the Quarter Quell and hurting Katniss is equal to rebellion on Cinna's part. Maybe there are more complex aspects to it but when he lays these thoughts in his head, he puts them simply. Like equations. Complicated is for his work where it can really shine through. Otherwise, things just need to be seen plainly.

He finishes a set of stitching and sits back to admire it. Perfect. But there's still more to do. His eyes flicker again to the sketch. She will look beautiful in this dress. And as the mockingjay, there will not be a single person in the country who will not be tempted to follow her. If only for a second.

Katniss + Cinna's work = Capitol adoration = X

X + interview + unrest = rebellion.

Simple.

He can't deny that part of him is scared. Because everyone will know that Cinna engineered this and he will be in the Capitol. Unless District 13 can rescue him quickly, he will be killed.

He forces himself to begin the next set of stitching. Fear can go into this. Fear is an emotion everyone has when they think of President Snow. And defiance of death can be used because that is something all the rebels will need.

Dress + Snow = Cinna's death.

Placing it so simply makes it seem almost trivial. Another advantage to considering it in this way. And another emotion for the dress – how worthless the Capitol really is.

His eyes keep flicking back and forth as his hands move on. Filling the dress with more emotions and his mind with more equations.


	11. Clove: Skate

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Hunger Games_.

**A/n:** This is a series of oneshots. Each oneshot features, in order, a person from the character list on this site as well as a few i felt should be there (Boggs, Coin, Caesar, Cashmere, Gloss, and Marvel) each with a randomly picked prompt (or as random as i could manage without throwing actual darts at my poor old dictionary!). Updates will be one a day (hopefully) though when i go back to uni, this might change. Anyway, i hope you enjoy! As always, any criticism, just shout it out. Any advice on law, shout it out louder!

11) Clove – Skate

Interview practice. What a waste of time. We all know what my angle is going to be – a stone-cold killer. After all, that is what I'll be in the arena so why pretend otherwise? The interviews are a waste of time anyway. Even though District 12 pulled off that stunt with the fire, all the sponsors will be looking for the _strongest_ tributes, regardless of interview. Which means me.

My mentor, however, is telling me that Cato is going to have that interview angle so I need something more refreshing. Different. But that's stupid too because Cato and I are similar (sadly) so _of course_ we'll have the same angle. And why does he get to have it anyway? Apart from him being huge and me being short and so physically less intimidating? As if he wasn't annoying enough already. This will just push his ego over the edge.

She's going on about me being 'deep' now – show that I have 'depth'. What the hell am I meant to say to that? My entire life has been geared towards the massacre of teenagers and I spend my spare time plotting to kill my mother for gearing my entire life towards the massacre of teenagers; I don't _have _depth. Cato does though: he told me he looks after his aunt and sister. Which is _exactly_ why he should have this interview angle instead!

God, I want to kill that boy. He's even _deeper_ than I am! If he wasn't so fricking scary, I'd just get by with being a vicious killer. But, no, I have to be the deep one.

"Tell me what you miss most about District 2," my mentor asks, completely oblivious to my inner rant.

"Nothing," I mutter. Which is true with regard to things the Capitol would like to hear anyway.

"Clove!"

I roll my eyes and try to think. For some reason, my mind goes back to Cato and the conversation we had last night about our lives back home. He told me that when he was younger, he used to skate. So did I. And I still do, whenever my mother's gone off somewhere and it's cold and the pond has frozen. My knives have more than one use.

"In winter, the village pond freezes," I mutter, still imagining odd days gone by and nights when I've snuck out. "I would get my knife blades and get them on my shoes and skate, if I couldn't find proper skates. For hours if I could."

"And?"

"I dunno," I say, suddenly unwilling to elaborate. She frowns so I force myself to continue rather than endure another lecture. "I went round in circles. But even then, it was like ... like flying. There's nothing there except you and the wind and there's no one to stop you..."

My mentor sighs, getting me out of my daydream. "OK, Clove," she says wearily. "Depth is not your thing. Let's try arrogance."

I nod and try to focus. But though I answer questions as arrogantly as I can, my mind is still in a frozen pond in District 2, flying with the whirling snow. It calms me down for some reason. Cato was right when he said there is no experience quite like skating.

God, he's annoying.


	12. Coin: Cloud

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Hunger Games_.

**A/n:** This is a series of oneshots. Each oneshot features, in order, a person from the character list on this site as well as a few i felt should be there (Boggs, Coin, Caesar, Cashmere, Gloss, and Marvel) each with a randomly picked prompt (or as random as i could manage without throwing actual darts at my poor old dictionary!). Updates will be one a day (hopefully) though when i go back to uni, this might change. Anyway, i hope you enjoy! As always, any criticism, just shout it out. Any advice on law, shout it out louder!

12) Coin (Alma) – Cloud

Today, they let us above ground for the first time in a month. It seems that the threat of Capitol retaliation for the stolen hovercrafts is finally over. I don't think I realised how much I missed being above ground until I had to stay inside for the month. Still, my saving grace is that I didn't complain as much as Terra and Dillon did. Those two have been warned many times about it. It wouldn't surprise me if they end up being punished.

It's strange but most people here say they miss the feel of sunshine and wind when they are underground. I miss those feelings too but I realised, today, that I do not miss them as much as I miss clouds. This is because there were no clouds today and that, I found, depressed me. I don't mean clouds in the way of having a grey sky but simply white clouds of different shapes. To watch as they float by, slow and uncaring. They take my mind off things more than sunshine or wind ever can.

Perhaps the next time I am allowed up, I will see them. Even if I have to be with Terra and Dillon again to manage it. I wonder whether there may be a way to get rid of them. Or at least swap groups. But, of course, it's down to the schedule and I have no control over that. Maybe one day, I will though. Then I could schedule it so that I may watch the clouds as I please.

Except I would have a lot of power in that case and maybe no time to watch clouds at all. Would it be worth it, to give up the clouds for power?

To have the power in District 13 would mean complete control. The responsibility of survival, too, but I could do that. I can plan, I can think. It would mean respect and making sure people like Dillon and Terra don't complain.

Cloud-watching, on the other hand, is simply nice. It has no real utility other than pleasure and that can be sought in other ways.

So I suppose the answer to my question would be yes: I would give up the clouds for power in District 13. Strange, considering how depressed I was earlier about the lack of clouds and how desperate I was to go outside. I wonder if I would still think the same if ever I had power.


	13. Cray: Apple

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Hunger Games_.

**Warning: Due to themes in this chapter, this oneshot is one of the ones which make this fic rated T. It is not suitable for younger readers.**

_Review Reply to _Rena Pudding: _Thanks for the review. I hope you continue to enjoy the fic!_

**A/n:** Someone explain to me why Cray - who appears for roughly 5 lines in the entire series, gets a character entry but not Caesar, who appeared in every book? Strange world. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

13) Cray – Apple

Today I did something what both saved our lives and killed me inside. And I just got to get it out or else I'll be haunted by it and that'll do me no good at all. So I got to write it down here.

See, we got no money at all. And my little brother and sister are literally starving, what with me being the only one old enough for the Hunger Games and my dad being injured and God knows what goes on in Mom's head.

It's hard to write down. None of us have said where I got the money for that meal from cos it's embarrassing, see. We're just sort of acting like I did some proper job or hell, even stole the money. That'd be better, maybe, for my pride. Not my dad's pride but then, he's not done what I did and he's not likely to ever do what I did.

But I got to get it out or else I think I'm going to go each day hating myself. So, here goes.

I, Apple Jones, went to Head Peacekeeper Cray. Cos he's got the money and power to do what he likes and he likes desperate girls. Girls like me. So I followed him round for a bit and then I went up to him and asked him ... well, if he wanted what he always wants off girls like me. And he looked me up and down and asked me what my name was.

"Apple," I said. And it made him laugh and ask me if I'm as delicious as my name suggests and I said yes. Even though I hated doing it. I had to do it. And then he grabbed me and kissed me and put his hands on my body and ... I had to do it back or I wouldn't have got nowhere. I hated myself. If I could have done anything else I think I would have. But I couldn't.

So I went back to his house with him and let him do what he wanted to me. He actually enjoyed it. I don't think he sees any of it as something he's meant to do to someone he loves or whatever. It's just his way of being powerful and having fun. Still, I got my family fed. And that's all that matters. I got the money I needed to save us all and I'll do it again if I got to.

Besides I can't criticise him, can I? Not really. Business, that's what it is now. Something crude. Defined by ugly words. Not beautiful like making love is meant to be or bland like sex. It's something which gets my family money and makes me cheaper every time I do it.

It's something I'll never forgive myself for.


	14. Darius: Tapestry

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Hunger Games_.

**A/n:** OK, this was not technically put up on 29th September but i'm pretending it was. Hope you enjoy!

14) Darius - Tapestry

"Another freezing day," Darius mutters to Purnia as he claps his hands together. "I may go down the Hob and see if there's anything to warm me up."

Purnia smiles slightly. "I thought you said you were always hot, Darius."

He smiles. "I'm always available for warming you up if you want," he says in a fake, seductive voice and puts his arm around her. She laughs as she dodges away from him.

"Of course you're always available, Darius. You have about fifteen years left of this?"

He nods. "Something like that." He rubs his hands together, still smiling. "And I don't intend to waste a single minute of it."

"Yes, because in District 12, the fun never stops," Purnia remarks dryly.

"You're grouchy. It's because you're cold," he says, nodding wisely. She glowers at him so he stops. "You don't sound like you're enjoying life here," he adds after a few more steps in glowering silence.

"Oh, no, I love being freezing cold with no work to do, people who hate me, low pay and no husband or kids allowed," she replies sarcastically.

"You just don't see the perks!"

She rolls her eyes. "Maybe I see too clearly. Come on, Darius. You're a Capitol boy . Do you really enjoy it here?" He opens his mouth. "And answer seriously!"

He opens his mouth to tell her that he _does_ like it but something in her expression makes him pause and seriously think about the question. He's been working in the district for five years. Five long years. Long enough to form an opinion.

It hadn't been his greatest wish in life (or, indeed, a wish at all), to become a Peacekeeper but gambling away his money had caused serious debt. He could have paid it off with a tapestry which they had saved in his family's home. An ugly thing but worth a lot. Unfortunately (or so it seemed at the time) it was worth more to his father than his son's happiness. Darius only had one option left to him.

He spent the first few months dreaming about burning that tapestry. It was freezing in winter and too hot in the summer. His fellow Peacekeepers were miserable. He didn't actually _want_ to go around catching anyone. And everyone hated him because of his uniform.

But things did improve. He soon discovered that he doesn't actually have to work here. No more than pretending to enforce the law and catching the occasional murderer/person speaking far too loudly against the Capitol. So one problem: solved. Once he made it clear that he wasn't really bothered about catching anyone as long as they didn't commit the crimes in front of him, people opened up. A few friends, a few pretty girls. And learning more about Panem than life in the Capitol could ever have given him – maybe not for the better but it makes him think more. Which can't be a bad thing, right?

In fact, by the end of his second year, he found that life in District 12 was actually quite fun and certainly better than the boredom of the Capitol (though he had never realised he was bored, he thinks now that he must have been). He doesn't have his luxurious lifestyle and it hurts his eyes and soul to see the people from the Seam but, overall, he thinks, the day his father fell in love with that tapestry was a good day for him.

"I'll enjoy it more once I'm warm," he answers with a wink. "And I'm already hot." He walks off, whistling, suddenly feeling even happier with life. Purnia rolls her eyes and follows him, masking the slight smile which plays on her face.


	15. Effie Trinket: Confusion

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Hunger Games_.

**A/n:** Alright, from now on, things get uncertain. I go back to uni tomorrow so updates may be irregular. Review replies almost certainly will be. I'll try to keep updates as one a day and will attempt to reply as often as i can (this seems to be once every two weeks at 3am in the morning...). Sorry about that. Also, someone explain why there are two entries for Effie in the character list? I haven't done two, because that's ridiculous, but why? Hope you enjoy!

15) Effie Trinket – Confusion

The one, curious thing about Effie Trinket is that, instead of the genuine stupidity and non-understanding which most people like her have, Effie actually _chose_ to be this way. Because, as anyone who grew up in the Captiol knew, the best way to stay alive is to know nothing at all about anything.

It worked too. Effie Trinket lived a very long life. One might argue that a life of complete confusion is no life at all but, it seemed to Effie that the people who knew everything which was going on were the people who were most unhappy. Given a choice between knowledge and unhappiness or confusion but a shot at being happy, she knew which one she wanted.

There were a few times when it seemed like the wrong choice. When she was arrested after Katniss escaped the Quarter Quell arena. Effie endured torture and she had no idea why. She didn't know the Capitol would torture people (she did know, deep down, but that was the sort of knowledge which led to an unhappy life), she didn't know anything about the Quell and she didn't know why Haymitch – her supposed partner – would leave her to this if he knew about it. It made her wish she'd taken the effort to learn more so she could understand why everything was happening. Indeed, for years afterwards, her mind would flashback to this time, leaving her unsettled and shaking. But she learnt to deal with that by repressing the memory. People often commented on the vacant look in her eyes. To Effie, vacant was better than remembering.

As for other times, well, they were relatively minor in the long run. She occasionally wished she knew why people referred to her as some kind of rebel. Sometimes, she wondered why she hadn't told Katniss how proud she had been to be her Escort. Small things like that. Things which could dampen her mood but had no real relevance to her life.

So, overall, she definitely preferred a life of confusion. Oh, sure, there were probably people who mocked her for her peppy attitude and her cluelessness. They probably looked down on her and took the opportunity to feel superior. But this wasn't important. These people could never see that it was _because_ of her cluelessness that she could be so peppy. Even in the years after the rebellion, she never tried to learn more about the world than was absolutely necessary. She was given no more than the usual responsibilities and lived, in many ways, a simpler but similar life.

Maybe she wasn't the type of hero Katniss was or the intelligent thinker like Haymitch. Maybe she _was_ someone to be scorned and mocked. But, at the end of the day, it didn't matter. She was happy. And that was more than could be said for most.


	16. Enobaria: Hope

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Hunger Games_.

**A/n:** Ha ha, just as i say that, it comes true! Internet was down since Friday and has only been back for the last few hours so yes, sorry about that. Anyway, hope you enjoy and i'll try to reply to more reviews.

16) Enobaria – Hope

"I know you," someone would gasp indignantly. "You're Enobaria Fitzwilliam."

That's how it always started.

"Yes, I am," she would reply gravely. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

The person would back away, disgusted. "You should have been executed," they would say.

"Very humane," she would answer dryly. "Should I go in the next Hunger Games too?"

At this point, her husband would always arrive and ask what the problem was. In a way, it's slightly ridiculous that he has to fight his wife's battles. But it is only when these people see that she has a husband and a child and a simple life in District 11 that they begin to back off from her.

It is a strange thing to be Enobaria Fitzwilliam in a post-Hunger Games world. She is one of the only remaining victors and the only one who didn't fight the Capitol. As such, she is the only one who is seen as an inhumane monster who should have been executed along with the leaders of the Capitol and many other soldiers for war crimes (though, she notes that _none_ of the rebellion soldiers were executed for being as brutal as the Capitol soldiers). When she was first dropped in District 11 and told to make a living as a farmer, it seemed like a punishment. People avoided her and she didn't know how to do the work.

But she was a victor. And victors survive. It's what they do best.

Gradually, people warmed up to her presence and began to help her. The work was easier with people aiding her. Although they could never understand her memories of the Hunger Games, people would listen and _sympathise_ with her. She met someone she fell in love with. They adopted a child. In many ways, her life is better than it was as a Capitol celebrity. She barely misses her old, bloodthirsty life.

In reality, it isn't perfect because no life ever is. Her husband can't always understand the way she reacts and there's always a slight rift between them; his older brother had been killed by Brutus in the Hunger Games. Her Games – a point of pride for most of her life – has become something she fears. And, of course, there are the people who think she has no right to be happy. People who throw things through her window and abuse her in the street.

But she still hopes for things to stay the way they are and improve. And that, in itself, is a change because, before, Enobaria had no _right_ to hope. Just to be manipulated by everyone and everything.

She can endure everything people tell her. She can't change who she was, only who she is. But she doesn't think it's selfish for her to be happy and to have hope. After all: she's human now. Just like everybody else.


	17. Finnick Odair: Invisible

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Hunger Games_.

**Review reply to** _i don't have one_: Thanks for the review. I'm trying to update as often as i can but uni is always hectic for me (especially when the internet dies and your house is somewhat broken. That's always fun) so it's sadly not gonna be too consistent :( I hope you enjoy the fic!

**A/n:** Nearly time for me to start doing work so i think daily updates are now a figment of the imagination. Hopefully not.

17) Finnick Odair – Invisible

It is sometimes said, by those who speak, live and work with them, that those who are mad often appear more normal than those who are 'sane'. Finnick is someone who thinks that this is true, because Annie sometimes seems saner than any other person around. But maybe it's because what she really does well – better than any other person he knows – is see Finnick Odair.

For most of his life, Finnick has been invisible. He has been placed in the public eye with thousands watching him but none of them have ever seen him. When he was fourteen, they saw only the good-looking teenager, fighting for their entertainment. As a victor, he was simply a prize to be won and a person designed to further the Hunger Games. As a Quarter Quell rebel, he was someone who could die for the cause. As a rebel he is a pretty face for the cameras, to say to President Snow, "Up yours!"

All of these people watch him and none of them see him for who he is.

But Annie – Annie is different. When they met, he was a mentor but even then, she spoke to him as though maybe – just maybe – he had feelings of his own. And even when she had won and begun to live in her own world, she would look at him and ask him about the small things in life. The things no one discusses with him because he's _far_ too important for them. And then she would talk about the big things but as though he was an equal – not out of her league nor just another person to control. It was Finnick who had to hide things, not her.

He sometimes wonders whether the reason she does this is because her insanity allows her to act as no other person does. But he knows that's wrong. She does it because that's who she is.

He pulls on his suit, ready for the wedding. Another event where people will watch him as a symbol of happiness and rebellion and not see him for who he is. But that doesn't matter because Annie will be there and she'll see what the wedding is for him.

And as long as the woman he loves can see him, why should he care when the rest of the world looks right through him?


	18. Flavius: Nullify

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Hunger Games_.

**A/n:** A short one. I will reply to reviews soon! Hopefully tomorrow. I've decided to try doing most of my work without my laptop so i literally go on for maybe 20 mins a day, generally, hence the lack of updatingness.

18) Flavius – Nullify

Since he was little, Flavius has always been _somebody_. Oh, not someone famous – who do you think he is? Finnick Odair? – but a person nonetheless. Someone worth talking to; even if the conversation was about nothing at all. When he messed around in class, kids would either tell him he was the coolest or that he was an idiot. The same as they treated other kids. Being treated this way was something he got used to. Even as a stylist, he was still _somebody_, even if he was occasionally ignored or not as important as others. He got the tributes ready and that was something people acknowledged. It was something that had always been in his life so you couldn't _blame_ him for always expecting it, could you?

It was different in District 13. There, he wasn't simply another rebel. The residents often glared at him as though he had committed some terrible atrocity upon them rather than just made people beautiful. They took one look at him and decided who he was counted for naught. Who he was, was gone. His looks, his personality ... _himself_. It was completely nullified. They told him he'd been rescued but he couldn't see how. After all, his treatment here was so much _worse_ than it had been before. But, to an extent, he was still treated like everyone else. So maybe, just maybe, he couldn't _really_ complain.

And then came the day he stole the bread. It was a common thing to do in the Capitol. Not stealing, of course, but hoarding. He'd always been used to having so much _more_. So, he couldn't exactly help himself, could he? It was just one piece of bread – barely anything at all! But the guards caught him and Venia and Octavia and _they_ acted as though he had _killed_ someone. _That's_ when he knew he hadn't been rescued at all. Because, the guards beat him and left him and his colleagues in a small, empty room. He was fed hardly anything. No one seemed to care about him at all. For the first time in his life, Flavius wasn't human.

It was an experience he never wanted to relive.


	19. Foxface: Geese

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Hunger Games_.

**Review reply to **_anonymous_: Thanks for the review. I hope this answers your question ;)

**Review reply to** _BackAndForth_: Thank you for the review and your criticism. Bear with me with this reply as it may be relatively incoherent (120 pages of law reading on 3 different subjects as well as lots of cases does that to a person ;)) I do actually agree with you. That was one i was particularly unhappy with (and trust me when i say the original draft was much, much, much worse) but i didn't think it was quite *as* bad :P It was actually supposed to be awkwardly phrased for the precise reason that it makes you think about what it actually says. Which you seem to have done. I don't like all writing to just plainly say: this is what it is, this is what you should think. So i made it relatively awkward to try and encourage readers to think about what the point of the oneshot was. Possibly, i didn't quite pull it off, in which case, i apologise. :) As for the last line, fair enough. It's debatable as to what a last line is meant to do but that argument is irrelevant. Hope that was somewhat coherent.

**A/n:** Hey, 2 updates in 2 days! Enjoy :D

19) Foxface – Geese

"Menna, I think we need to talk about this."

"Why?"

"Because ... well, for one thing, where on earth did you get them from?"

"The babies were by the pond and the mom was hurt. I told you."

"OK, but we can't afford to keep geese. We just don't have the money."

"I'll let them go when the mom's alright. So we won't be keeping them, Uncle."

"What if they belong to someone?"

"They shouldn't have let the mom get hurt then. They can have them back when she's OK."

It's the sort of argument you can only have with a nine year old. I've never seen anyone out-argue this one. I'm on the losing side already.

"OK, let's say no one owns these geese," I say, "and by some miracle the Peacekeepers let us raise them on free food. Menna, _where_ are we gonna keep them, kid?"

She thinks about this for a few seconds. "I could keep them in my room."

"Your room is barely big enough for you. I'm not letting you sleep in there with three goslings and a goose. I'll never get you all out again!"

"Your room? Please, Uncle?"

I shake my head. "_My_ room is your room with a dividing screen, kid. They're not getting in there either."

"But I _have_ to help them, Uncle," she cries out. "She might die!"

I haven't seen Menna this emotional since she was six. And since last year, she's rarely ventured beyond mildly pleased or annoyed. For a few seconds, I'm stunned into silence.

"Well ... that's nature, Menna. Sometimes, animals die. It's the way of life."

She whispers something.

"Didn't quite catch that," I say cheerfully. I look at my arm and find I've absent-mindedly been petting the head of one of the goslings. I move my hand back. This will _not_ help my case.

"I said," she mumbles, "that if she dies, there'll be no one to look after the little geese."

"Well," I say hesitantly, "maybe that's for the be-"

"It's _not_ for the best!" she yells. "Moms and dads shouldn't die and leave their kids. Kids should have their parents." Tears well up in her eyes and she runs off into the house, leaving me in shock because I've not seen her cry for so long. The mother goose shoots me a look which seems to say _Have a bit more tact, why don't you_? I pat its head, dodge its beak and walk into the house.

Menna's easy to find; all I have to do is follow the sobs. She's curled up on her bed, body shaking. I sit down next to her and scoop her up onto my lap. She doesn't resist – she simply keeps sobbing.

"Come on, Menna," I say softly. "I didn't mean it like that." She keeps crying. I rub her back. "Of course it's not for the better to lose your parents. I meant if it's their time to die-" She sobs even harder. This tactic is clearly not working. "You and me, kid, we've had experience of people we love dying," I murmur. "You've had it worse. It's not easy to be you, I reckon, losing your parents in that accident and being stuck with me with all the stuff in this District going on. But it's different for animals."

"How?" she sniffles. "Those baby geese must love their mom."

"It ... it just is..." Suddenly, I'm not sure how it is.

"But it's n-not, Uncle."

"OK," I agree. "It isn't. But the fact is, we can't look after them."

She wails again. This is the first time she's cried in two years. Not even when her parents died last year. She's been locked inside herself for almost a year. I don't know what to do.

"We can try," I find myself saying. She looks up, eyes red but hopeful. "If it means that much to you, Menna, we'll try and nurse the goose back to health. I guess it's what my brother would have done."

She smiles. "Really?"

"Sure. Go bring them in."

She gives me a hug and runs outside. I find myself smiling, despite the fact that I honestly have no idea how I'm going to raise Menna, a goose and three goslings on no money. I think it's because, for the first time in a year, she's finally smiling and crying and wanting to do things. It might not be much but I have the geese to thank for it.

I guess the least I can do is offer them a bed, right?


	20. Gale Hawthorne: Flaw

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Hunger Games_.

**A/n:** Too good to last, right? I'm not going to lie - this is one of the most bizarre ones i've done. Hope you enjoy (or at least don't find it too strange)

20) Gale Hawthorne - Flaw

**Report 1**

Soldier Hawthorne is a troubled young man. He is practical and modest and clearly brave. He appears to be devoted to his family and to fighting the Capitol.

_Strengths_ – strong, smart and loyal to the cause.

_Flaws_ – Can be driven to flout the rules when Soldier Everdeen suggests it. Potentially more loyal to her than to District 13.

* * *

**Report 2**

Soldier Hawthorne follows his schedule faithfully. He is close to Soldier Everdeen. Unfortunately, he has proven to be troublesome. This has resulted in the loss of his communicuff.

_Strengths_ – Will work for those he loves.

_Flaws_ – Cares more for Soldier Everdeen than for respecting the authority of District 13.

* * *

**Report 3**

Soldier Hawthorne recently took part in the conflict in District 8 as well as the filming of the propos there. He has proven to be useful for filming and for combat. It is recommended that he is utilised in these ways often.

_Strengths_ – Adept at using weapons. Appears to have either knowledge of or a strong instinct for rudimentary military tactics.

_Flaws_ – None apart from those already listed.

* * *

**Report 4**

Soldier Hawthorne behaved adequately during the bombing of the District and outstandingly during the rescue of Annie Cresta, Johanna Mason and Peeta Mellark. Possibly command material.

_Strengths_ – Keen to be involved. Will not hesitate to sacrifice himself for the greater good.

_Flaws_ – Potentially too enthusiastic; does not see how his staying alive could be more valuable than his dying to save others.

* * *

**Report 5**

Soldier Hawthorne has been aiding Beetee in Special Defence and has suggested some ingenious weapon designs. Further, he suggested the final assault on District 2. He has come a long way from being the saviour of District 12.

_Strengths_ – Weapon design and military assault tactics.

_Flaws_ – Does not recognise the need for a sustainable population.

* * *

**Report 6**

Soldier Hawthorne has attended training and has earned the right to be a sharpshooter. Further, his weapon ideas will be used to secure the Capitol.

_Strengths _– Same as those listed.

_Flaws_ – Same as those listed.

**Destroy this file after reading.**


	21. Glimmer: Imperfection

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Hunger Games_.

**Review reply to **_BackAndForth_: Thanks for the review and i'm glad you liked this one at least :) I would reply to the reply to the reply but this is making my head hurt now (which does, at least, take away from my current foot injury)... ;) But, on a serious note, thanks for taking the time to give me your honest opinion!

**A/n:** Nearly halfway through now. Hope you enjoy!

21) Glimmer – Imperfection

"Glimmer, we need to find a persona for you. Someone for you to be for the crowd. Now, to be blunt, our obvious asset would be your looks."

"My looks?"

"Yes: any hot-blooded male in the audience will be staring at you and will probably be dreaming of you winning and gracing them with your attention. So we will play on that. And, of course, you will have to be ruthless at the same time. As though _you_ are too good for them."

"Right..." I look at my mentor doubtfully. "Will this actually work?"

"Have you seen Cashmere?" he asks. "She used a similar act and she won. People were practically falling over themselves to sponsor her."

I think back to her Games or what I remember of them. I think he may have a point. But there's still one problem with this.

"But, Cashmere was confident and stunning in every way," I say. "I don't think I can do any of that. Well, I could stun them if they got too close ... ha ha..." I trail off at his stern look. "And, er, if we're always going for the same thing, they're going to get bored, right?"

He sighs. "What is your idea, Glimmer?"

"I don't know," I answer, alarmed at having to think about this. I probably should have considered an interview angle when I decided to volunteer but, somehow, it didn't cross my mind. "I could be likeable," I suggest hesitantly, "or ... I don't know, really scary?"

"You're meant to be the winner of the Games," he says. "So likeable is out because you need to prove you can kill."

That one's sort of news to me. Can't I win _and_ be nice? That was my original plan!

"And you're simply not big enough to pull off menacing."

OK, he has a point there.

"But I don't think I can do 'sexy'," I say carefully. "It's not really me."

He gives me an appraising look. "You look fine to me." I scowl and he sighs. "Look, Glimmer, I know you're uncomfortable with this and I'll be honest – any tactic we try won't be perfect. So I'm looking for the one with the smallest problem and here, that's just you being unconfident. Acting beautiful is your best chance."

I pull a face. "I wanted this to be perfect, though."

He shrugs. "Every plan has its imperfections. Trust me, I know what would happen if you tried to act as you normally do. This is better."

"What do you mean?" I ask curiously.

Spark shrugs and I realise it's a stupid question. He's seventy-two years old. He must have mentored loads of people. But then, to my surprise, he answers me. "There was a girl like you, once," he says softly. "She came to the Games having no real idea what they were about. Even looked and acted a bit like you. She let the Games beat her. I won't let that happen to you."

"Thanks," I say, actually feeling touched at the devotion in his voice. "I'll try it."

"Even though it's imperfect?" he asks with a touch of irony.

I shrug and smile at him. "Everything has an imperfection, Spark. One day, you'll have to look carefully at my right foot and its six toes. Then I'll show you the really long, horrible-looking scar on my stomach from when I was little. See if you think I'm _really_ sexy then." Seeing his surprise, I smile sweetly. "Nothing's perfect, right, Spark?"


	22. Gloss: Rude

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Hunger Games_.

**A/n:** Alright, halfway there. I *think* this is the longest one. Hope you enjoy and sorry about the sporadic update times.

22) Gloss – Rude

He runs into her at training. Literally – he is heading towards wrestling and she is going towards the edible plants table.

"Watch where you're going," he snaps. He pushes past her, trying to be aggressive, as his mentor told him to.

"Don't be so fricking rude," the girl snaps back. "It's not like _you_ were watching where you were going."

Surprised, he turns around. So far, all of the tributes have shied away from the tributes of Districts 1, 2 and 4. Especially the small ones; and this girl looks as though one good blow would kill her.

"Well, _you_ should be watching _me_," he snarls, for lack of a better response.

"You're not _that_ good-looking," she snaps back. Then, with a slight smile on her face, she adds, "you also sound like an idiot. Do you always talk like this?"

"Yes," he replies, thinking that he can't admit he doesn't usually go around trying to sound egotistical.

"So rude _and_ a liar. Nice." Suddenly, she grins. "I'm Anfisa, from District 5."

"Gloss, District 1," he answers, unable to think of any other response. Any attempts at being intimidating seem to have gone down the drain. But, looking at her cheekily grinning face, he can't bring himself to care.

"Anyway, I'm off to poisonous plants. Coming?"

He intends to say no but somehow, the idea of learning about poisonous plants is suddenly appealing. He follows her. They don't speak at all. But he can't keep his eyes off her.

* * *

For the next three days, he develops a mini-routine of suddenly wanting to learn survival skills and 'conveniently' bumping into her there. Their conversations always start off by him insulting her in some way and her replying with 'Don't be so fricking rude'. It makes him feel comfortable around her and they do manage to discuss other things. Not important things. But things.

The other tributes he is allied with – with the exception of Teo – watch him carefully and he tries to hide any stupid feelings he may have for her in front of them and in front of her. But it's hard.

* * *

It is the night before the Games are due to start and, on impulse, Gloss has made his way up to Floor Five. He isn't entirely sure what he plans to do there but he walks into the corridor. And straight into _her_.

"Watch where you're going," he snaps without thinking.

"Don't be so fricking rude," she replies. They laugh. She looks around and pulls him into her room. "Why are you here, Gloss?"

"I can be here if I want," he answers.

"Why are you here, Gloss?"

He shrugs. "I don't know. To say goodbye, I think."

"Not tempted to ally with me then?" she asks teasingly.

He is, actually, but common sense prevails. "I have to go home. And my mentor would kill me if I didn't stick to the plan."

She shrugs but he can see the hurt in her eyes. "And would _you_ kill me, Gloss?"

He looks away. "I don't ... I ... maybe?" He forces himself to meet her eyes. "Not if I don't have to." He takes a breath. "Keep away from us, Anfisa," he says seriously, "Teo's a decent guy but the others are sadistic. You won't stand a chance."

She nods and then, suddenly, leans forward and kisses him. Startled, he steps back.

"That's not a reply," she says teasingly. "That was rude."

To his everlasting shame, he blushes. "I ... I ... I don't think it's a good idea!" he blurts out. "One of us, at least, is going to have to die. We can't start kissing each other." They lock eyes. A moment of silence and awkwardness. "I think I should go," he says eventually.

She nods. "I just ... wanted to do that," she mumbles. He has never seen her this awkward or shy but he doesn't know how to help her out. "Before I die."

He wants to tell her not to say that but, instead, he just nods and backs towards the door. "Goodbye, Anfisa."

"Bye, Gloss." As he puts his hand on the door handle, she says softly, "if these weren't the Hunger Games – would you have kissed me back?"

He knows he should just leave but something makes him answer. "Yes."

Silence.

"Bye," he whispers and exits the room.

* * *

He's just filled up his water bottle and is heading back to his allies when someone walks into him.

"Watch where you're going or I'll _make_ you watch where you're going," he growls, beginning to draw his sword.

"Don't be so fricking rude. Or threatening. You've added to your reptoire."

He turns and looks at her. "Anfisa!" he exclaims and then remembers where they are. "Go!" he hisses. "Get out of here!"

But it's too late. The other tributes have heard them and are running towards them. She sees them and starts to run but trips. Before Gloss can do anything, they have surrounded her.

"Hey, ain't this Gloss' whore?" the boy from 2 asks mockingly. Gloss looks from Anfisa to his allies, panicking. He can try to save Anfisa and die. Or he can deny everything, live and let _her_ die.

"I'm not _his_ anything," Anfisa spits, apparently making the decision for him. "I have more class than that." She gets up, trying to ignore the weaponry pointed at her. Gloss turns to face her. She looks scared.

"I'm too good for you anyway," he sneers although his heart isn't really in it. There's slight relief in her eyes because he's playing along.

"Rude _and_ a liar."

One of the girls grabs her and slashes at her. The others join in, taking it in turns to inflict pain. She screams. Gloss is somehow pushed out of the circle. Then one of them cheers.

"Hey," Teo shouts suddenly. "Over there! I see a figure. More sport! Leave her, she's done for anyway." Still high on bloodlust, the girls and the boy from District 2 run in the direction Teo points to. Gloss begins to move but Teo steps in front of him. "It won't take them long to find out there's no one. Whatever the hell it is you want to do, do it now." He jogs away. Gloss turns back to the mess of the girl who was Anfisa and looms over her so that his face is harder to see.

"You look a proper mess," he growls for the cameras but his expression shows his real feelings.

She laughs and chokes on blood. "You ... ever ... polite?"

He smiles, blinking to stop tears from falling. "No." He leans down further and pretends to be jabbing a wound. "I'm sorry I didn't save you," he whispers.

"I'm ... sorry ... I ... didn't ag ...agree to be ... your ... wh-whore."

"Anfisa!" he yelps as quietly as he can manage. "Where did that come from?"

Her torn lips curve into a smile. "J-j-just ... wanted ... you ... shocked." Her voice is barely audible. "Like ... kiss. Sh-sh-shock before ... I die. And ... a smile."

He smiles as soon as she says that. "Whatever you want."

Her eyes have fluttered shut. He doesn't think she heard him.

He wonders whether he should finish her off to stop her pain. But he doesn't want her death on his kill list and, somehow, he has the feeling that just killing her without permission would be the sort of thing which would annoy her. She'd probably tell him that it's good manners to ask first. So he sits and watches her as her breathing becomes shallower and her pulse slows. The cannon fires.

* * *

He wins the Hunger Games. No one mentions Anfisa to him in the days afterwards. In the recap, he notices that although it shows Gloss growling at Anfisa as she lies dying, when they show her slipping into death, the camera angle hides his presence.

He never watches his Games again. He doesn't say anything special about her in the Victory Tour. He has a picture of Teo in his house but she is completely absent. In fact, he only ever mentions her once after the Games – to his sister, three years later, and that is as an afterthought. It seems like he has forgotten her or dismissed her as a childish crush.

But for years afterwards – until his death, in fact – he always tells people to watch where they're going if he walks into them. And although they apologise to him, he never pays attention. Instead, he always smiles. Because, as soon as the words leave his mouth, in the back of his mind, a blunt, teasing voice retorts: "Don't be so fricking rude."


	23. Haymitch Abernathy: Essence

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Hunger Games_.

**A/n:** Possibly dodgy proof-reading due to tiredness. Enjoy :)

23) Haymitch Abernathy – Essence

In the days after their deaths, Haymitch locked himself away from the rest of District 12. Not that anyone much cared. By then, people had gotten over the idea of having another victor. Someone – he thought it was probably Al – occasionally knocked on his door, but he ignored that. He wanted nothing to do with these people.

It was strange, in a way, that three deaths could cause such a reaction in him. It hadn't been long since he'd taken part in the Quarter Quell and seen death close up or since he'd watched the recap and seen forty-seven teenagers die – some for the second time in his life. He thought he would be hardened to death by now. But, no: it was like a dull pain which never went away. Maybe because this was his mother, brother and girlfriend who had died and not some kids he barely knew. Maybe because they died because he dared to live.

He couldn't bear to go outside. That was where _they_ were: his family roamed the coal-dusted streets of District 12. The mines and the roads leading to it carried his mother's weary trudging and constant worry. His brother ran around in the schoolyard, trying to get with as many girls as he could manage. His own girl was in the main square, looking at the shops and talking about the days when they would be able to afford all of it – the days which would never come.

Even with people in the district, he could see his family. Every couple walking through the district was him and his girl, lost in their own world. His mother was chatting to other people in the Seam and bringing home the occasional miner as his new father, just like the woman on Elde Street. His brother was sitting with the teenage guys, trying to think of a way to avoid the mines and feed their families. Plotting pointlessly, in other words.

Maybe this house isolated him from society but the thing was, _they_ had made almost no impression there. Their essence was there – of course it was; it would never leave him – but not so much as to make it unbearably painful.

The only way to get rid of their essence – if only for a short time – was alcohol. None of them had ever been able to afford it to drink. He told himself he would only use it until he could walk around the district without seeing _them_. As a way of helping him to cope. A short term thing.

He never gave it up.


	24. Johanna Mason: Mattress

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Hunger Games_.

**Warning: Due to themes present in this chapter, this oneshot is one of the ones which make this fic rated T. It is not suitable for younger readers.**

**A/n:** Quick update while my printer dies on me, stopping me from doing any EU law reading... Enjoy!

24) Johanna Mason – Mattress

_Mattress I_

The first mattress which Johanna slept on was not a mattress in the traditional sense – it lacked springs and was, basically, cloth with straw and more cloth stuffed into it. But her parents _told_ her it was a mattress and she believed them for a long time.

It was uncomfortable and had to be refilled often. People stood on it. Bugs crawled on it.

It was Johanna's favourite mattress ever.

_Mattress II_

The second mattress she slept on was in the Training Centre, before her Games. Compared to her 'mattress' at home, this was a sleeper's heaven. Soft yet sturdy. Made with the finest material the Capitol could use. This was luxury.

Johanna had trouble sleeping on it. Not only was it not like home but no matter how comfortable something is, it can't override the feeling that you are going to die. She spent many hours lying on that mattress, tossing and turning, imagining all of the horrible things that could happen to her.

On the very last night, she just slept on the floor.

(Even during the Quarter Quell – it was, after all, the same mattress – she slept on the floor. Maybe it was just for tradition's sake)

_Mattress III_

Technically, the third mattress was the second mattress in what it was. The same standard, the same luxury. But it was in a different location and Johanna was using it in a different manner. In fact, she was first aware of it when she actually woke up from medication.

She could sleep on this mattress. Even though she had gotten used to the hard ground of the arena, she was too tired to simply flop over onto the floor. But on this mattress, she accepted medication to make her better and agreed to be the victor, which meant she approved everything the Capitol had done. The only good things about the mattress were that she had more than four hours sleep in a night and she never saw it again.

_Mattress IV_

Her mattress in the Victor's house was like the ones from the Capitol. But it was hers and she instantly felt more comfortable with it. She slept relatively well, albeit with nightmares. She got used to life as a victor. For a while, it was a contender for the title of 'favourite mattress'.

However, after the events of the fifth mattress, she told Snow that she would never go to the Capitol again for him. In retaliation, the Peacekeepers came to her house and shot her family in front of her. Then they pushed her onto her bed and raped her.

Johanna refused to enter the room after that.

_Mattress V_

She didn't, technically, sleep on this mattress although certain phrasing would imply otherwise. Nor was it _her_ mattress.

About nine months after her victory, Snow told her there was a man in the Capitol who was interested in her. When she declined his interest, he told her that if she didn't go, he would kill her family. She went.

The man was about ten years older than her and seemed to know that she had to do exactly as he said. Afterwards, he lay, snoring, as Johanna stared at the softly furnished floor. The bed covers were stained with blood. Her insides felt numb.

The mattress itself was insignificant to everything that had happened but there was no doubt in Johanna's mind that she would never sleep on another one like it again.

_Mattress VI_

The sixth mattress was in the hospital in District 13. Her experiences of it were marred by morphine, morphine cravings and the constant fear of being tortured. Whenever she was on it, all she wanted was to move somewhere else.

In addition, after she failed the combat exam, the mattress became associated with failure. She was _supposed_ to go to the Capitol and get revenge for everything they had done to her. Instead, she had to lie on that mattress and imagine how the mission was going.

And on top of that, it wasn't anywhere near as comfortable as mattresses two to five.

_Mattress VII_

This mattress was better than most of them. She used it at the end of training days and she could use it to talk to Katniss or simply to relax on. But she never felt healthy and she never stopped having nightmares on it. She knew it was a feeling which would probably never leave her.

In terms of comfort, it was better than mattress one. But in terms of feeling comfortable, it wasn't as good as mattress one or mattress eight. Overall, if she hadn't been so messed up when she slept on it, she probably would have grown to love it.

_Mattress VIII_

They gave her a house in District 7. She could have gotten some fancy job but all she wanted to do was go home. Not to the victor's house or her old dwelling. Just somewhere she could call her own. In response, they assigned her a house.

The mattress was slightly better than mattresses six and seven in terms of comfort. By now, she was used to sleeping anywhere. For many years, no one else was even in the house with her so she could enjoy the silence and when she did, eventually, find someone she loved enough to share her mattress with – someone who understood her reluctance to have any type of relationship – she still slept well.

Perhaps she didn't rank it as her favourite mattress because she never stopped having nightmares, something which had never happened on mattress one. And the only time she could remember ever being truly happy with no worries past the usual ones – the Hunger Games, feeding families etc – was when she slept on mattress one.

But it was a very, very close second.


	25. Katniss Everdeen: Ogre

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Hunger Games_.

**A/n: **Considering this is the main character, i don't know how well this one will go down. Still, i just did my essay in record time so i thought: why not!

25) Katniss Everdeen - Ogre

Her nightmares used to consist of ogres and giants and other such fairytale monsters. They would chase her through forests and streets, roaring and waving weapons and her childhood self would struggle to get away.

Now her nightmares consist of werewolves and snakes and crazed children. They chase her through forests and streets, roaring and waving weapons and her adult self struggles to get away.

Her biggest fear used to be that her parents would take Prim and leave her to live alone while people waited outside to kill her.

Now her biggest fear is that someone will take her children and Peeta and leave her to live alone while people wait outside to kill her.

She used to tell her father that she would never be like the children she saw on the Hunger Games; she would never kill anyone. She would kill animals for food, like him, but nothing would turn her into a monster.

Now she looks at the graveyard her children play on and tells Peeta that no one will make her kill anyone. With one exception – she will kill anyone who tries to harm her family. But nothing will turn her into the seventeen year old Mockingjay again.

She used to scream when she was terrified or when she was woken by nightmares. She would hug her sister when she was upset and soothe her.

Now, she screams when she is woken by nightmares or she sees something terrible happen (she screams for Peeta). She tries to soothe her husband when he is caught in the grip of some flashback.

Her life used to be simple because her parents looked after her and everything worked.

Now, her life is simple because she just has to keep her children alive, with Peeta, and things work.

It all seems so similar on paper – her life as a six or seven year old and her life as a thirty-six or thirty-seven year old. But it's like the difference between killing animals and killing people. Remarkably similar in the execution. Completely different in the aftermath.


	26. Madge Undersee: Coffin

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Hunger Games_.

**Review reply to **_BackAndForth_: Thanks for the review! I hope you keep enjoying the fic.

**A/n: **Argh, no time for anything! Please enjoy for it may be a while before the next.

26) Madge Undersee – Coffin

I would like to say I died with my family in a heroic manner – holding hands, tearfully telling them I love them. But no. That's the sort of thing which happens to other families. I died alone, in my room.

In my life, I probably stayed in my room far too much. Father certainly thought so; he thought I should be making an effort to befriend the other children in my class. But I could never summon up the courage. So, in the evenings and weekends, I would spend a lot of time in our house, in my room. It's remarkable how much you can do in one room without being bored.

Even when Katniss came over, we usually ended up in my room. I was alive for seventeen years. The amount of time I spent in that room probably amounted to about eleven years.

On the night of the firebombs, I watched Katniss destroy the arena and went up to my room to worry about it. I had just closed the door when the lights went out. The door had been broken for the last week and if pulled too hard, would lock itself. I was stuck.

My father came up after a few minutes to try and coax me out. When I explained my problem, Theren stayed outside while my father went to get my mother. In the dark. I didn't hear from him again. Instead, Theren talked about random things such as what he was planning to do to the flowers which grew outside our house.

I could see the orange glow of the Seam from my window and I could see the firebombs come closer. When Theren asked after my silence, I hesitated. What would be kinder? To tell him we were being attacked or to pretend there was nothing?

"Firebombs," I gasped out. "You have to run. I can't get out but you can."

The decision, when it came to it, wasn't that hard.

"No, Miss Undersee," he replied firmly. "Your father would not abandon you or the people of District 12. You wouldn't. Your mother wouldn't. And I serve your family so I won't either." And then, "I won't let you die alone up here, Madge."

I sat next to the door and thanked him. He began to tell me more about beautiful carvings and paintings and flowers. I tried not to focus on anything except him. It calmed me.

When it happened – the bomb which fell on my house killing us – I thought about my parents and Theren and Lera and Katniss and other people I'd loved. And I thought about how ironic it was. I'd practically lived my life in this room and now I was dying in it. My coffin. Not the sort of death which other people have. But maybe the one best suited to me.


	27. Mags: Kick

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Hunger Games_.

**A/n:** I just realised that there are *more* characters in the character list now. I swear someone waited till i was halfway through to do this... I may do the new additions after chapter 44, if i get the time to write them... Anyway, for now, enjoy!

27) Mags - Kick

The strange thing is that when people looked back on Mags' life, they only really remembered the sweet-natured woman she became. All they talked about was the way she mentored the tributes and treated people. How she always looked out for people before herself. The way she faced death in the Quarter Quell so that Katniss and Peeta could live. Selective memory is an odd and amusing thing.

Maybe it's because most people who knew Mags as a teenager and young woman have since died. Mags won the twelfth Hunger Games – long before most people's time. But those who did would attest to her cruel way of speaking and her merciless way of treating people. Maybe influenced by the Games, maybe not. But the fact is, Mags was not always the loving person everyone in the new Panem remembers.

What changed her was seeing the children of District 4 learning to swim. As soon as they could walk, children learnt how to swim in District 4, in order to maximise production. But there are always some who are slow to learn in any class. And it was these children whom Mags came across one day when walking by the learning ponds.

One girl was struggling, thrashing her arms around and crying. The next thing Mags knew, she had jumped into the pond and was holding the girl afloat, ignoring the trainer who was telling Mags the girl had to learn by herself. She often ignored people who were talking uselessly. It seemed to work somehow.

When Mags let the girl go, she immediately started thrashing. Mags started shouting for her to kick. No one was going to disobey a victor. The girl kicked. Mags showed her a basic swimming stroke, all the while shouting for her to kick. Then the instructor successfully evicted Mags from the pond before she could do anything else (such as teach the butterfly, perhaps).

The next day, Mags walked by the pond again where the little girl – apparently ignoring the death glares of the instructor – called for Mags to watch how well she swam. And after that, it was addictive; Mags simply jumped back in the pond and helped the other children to swim (with her usual cries of 'kick, kick, kick') until the instructor evicted her.

One day, the instructor stopped evicting her and told everyone to refer to her as Trainer Mags. It seemed like quite a promotion from 'victor', at least in this instructor's eyes. She could have said something cutting but she didn't. For the first time ever.

The change in her from then on in was remarkable. She'd gone from being the merciless victor to a 'child-at-heart' adult. One of the most beloved victors. The one everyone in the district remembered for years to come. Capitol spectators assumed she was famous for some violent kicking in her Games because of how the kids in the district would chant, 'kick, kick, kick' when they saw her on Reaping days. But everyone else knew differently.

The Hunger Games change people for the worse, they say. But, for Mags, there seemed no doubt that whatever had been awoken in her, it had changed her for the better.


	28. Marvel: Intruder

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Hunger Games_.

**A/n:** Sorry about the long update time. I've basically spent all week working solidly and had no time for anything - including adequate sleep on most nights (I do not recommend this as i nearly made myself ill through exhaustion as a result). Hopefully, the next update should be quicker as my workload will (fingers crossed) quieten a bit soon. Hope you enjoy for now!

28) Marvel – Intruder

If these goddamn idiots don't shut up their snoring, I swear to God I'm going to kill them. I could do it too. All it would take is a knife to their throats or a spear to their bellies. If it wasn't for the fact I need them, I'd do it too. Cato first, then Clove. Zita would be too easy but I'd get her anyway since people like her are obviously too stupid to live. Then lover boy who, when I speak to him, I always get the urge to thump him. Must be something about him. Glimmer's on watch so I can't tell if she snores. Maybe I'd let her live. She's good eye candy and it'd make her scared of me. I could always kill her later, for show. And, since she's awake, she'd put up a fight. But it's not like she'd stop me since the more people dead, the higher the chance of a District 1 victory.

For God's sake, I give up! Let Glimmer swap with me. I'll keep watch and she can sleep through these idiots' snores. At least there'll be no danger of me falling asleep on the job.

I get up and grab my spear, sword and knives. Then I look around. This is odd. Where the _hell_ is Glimmer?

There's a muffled sound coming from my left. A bit like whispering. Cautiously, I creep towards it, only to find it's my idiot district partner, staring at the sky and muttering to herself. Great. On top of everything else, she's a lunatic. I'm working with two homicidal maniacs, a complete idiot, a lovesick kid who makes me want to thump him and a girl who looks gorgeous and is completely insane. Good thing Kornel died in the bloodbath because he was fricking depressing. And we can't forget suicidal girl from District 3 who asked me to kill her, either. Am I the _only_ normal one in this arena?

"I have to do this," she's muttering. "I don't want you to be right, Dad. I want to be right. But I saw their bodies, Dad. I killed them." She sounds like she's on the verge of tears. I _hate_ crying people. It's usually me who's caused it so that's not too bad but when it isn't, I feel stupid. Like maybe I _should_ have caused it. And I never know what to fricking say to them! "I don't know if I can win," she continues, not aware that I'm standing here, "but I have to come home. But they're all crazy, Dad." She sighs and then gets up, turning around and spotting me in the process. "Marvel!" she exclaims.

"You want to make something of it?" I ask.

"It's rude to eavesdrop," she hisses. At least she isn't going to cry now. But her eyes are red. It's annoying.

"So what?" I sneer. "And you're not so sane yourself."

She glares at me but there's embarrassment in her gaze. Without meaning to, I look away. For some reason, this is more awkward than tense. I guess I shouldn't have heard her crazy mutterings. What the hell, maybe there's just something about me that makes female tributes want to talk their hearts out. At least she isn't telling me to spear her.

"Why are you awake anyway?"

"Think I could sleep with this racket?" I ask. "I was going to ask to swap with you. It wasn't for _your_ company, that's for certain."

The funny thing is, I actually enjoy arguing with Glimmer. She's smart, unlike the idiots at home. Maybe, if I'd met her at home, I'd have wanted to do more than screw her. I'll probably miss her when she's dead.

"Sure, so you can kill us in our sleep," she says sarcastically. "I'll stay on watch."

There are so many responses to this that I don't know where to begin. Then I look at her face and decide it's not worth it.

"Whatever," I say. "I'll just go plug my ears then. Don't you start talking too, though, or I'll kill you."

"Go away," she snaps. We glare at each other.

"Alright, crazy idiot," I say and smirk at her. "And just so you know, you were a hell of a lot better than these freaks till you started talking to yourself so _I'm _glad you volunteered anyway. And you're not going to win unless I die, alright?"

"Did you think of that by yourself?" she asks sarcastically but there's a slight smile on her face and she doesn't look like she might burst into tears at any point. Which means I might get some sleep which is the only reason I even bothered to say this.

"Shut up," I snap and go back to lie on the ground. She goes back to keep watch.

Goddammit, they're still snoring!


	29. Maysilee Donner: Nominee

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Hunger Games_.

**Review reply to **_GirlOnFire44: _Thanks for the review. The books didn't describe Annie's games; they just said a dam broke and flooded the place. So i invented a bit and decided there could have been a maze leading to dammed river. And yep, this is Maysilee's :)

**A/n:** Well, i didn't leave it so long this time. That's really all i can say except thank you for all the reviews. They make my day :) Hope you enjoy.

29) Maysilee Donner – Nominee

On Reaping day, we don't have to wake up early because the mines are closed and few people are up to shopping. But the Reaping always scares me too much to actually sleep so I get up early anyway. I'm not the only one; my sister is awake as well. I can tell from her snores which are just a little _too_ perfect to be genuine.

Step one to a successful Reaping day: pretend everything is normal and leave bedroom as quietly as possible.

I head downstairs but she comes down about five minutes later and sees me making myself breakfast. The nice thing about my sister is that we don't have to talk and it's still comfortable. So we sit in silence, chewing away at our food.

Step two: when words can't express the horror of something just look away and know the other person understands you anyway.

Eventually, she says, "I'm scared."

"Of the Quarter Quell?" I ask. She nods. "Same here," I say. "But the odds are still low that we'll be picked."

"Twice the normal chance," she shoots back.

I attempt to smile. "I thought I was meant to be making you feel better."

She tries to smile back. "Sorry, May."

We go back to eating in silence.

Step three: any attempts at talking about the Reaping should be stopped before they start. It never ends well.

We sit for a few more minutes before our parents walk in and my mother tries to start a conversation about our neighbours. No one's really buying into it but we keep talking anyway. It's better than sitting here and wondering whether me or my sister – or both of us – are going to be called into the Hunger Games this year.

I've always wondered what I would do if I did end up being called. The obvious answer is that I would die because I've never killed anything before and I don't think I can do it now. But I wonder whether I would survive for a few days first.

We do odd jobs for a bit, trying to waste time and put off the Reaping. But, too soon for our liking, my father announces that we have to go the main Square. We walk there in silence, meeting up with a few other friends, all of whom are stressed. No one talks about the Reaping at all but there's no doubt that the 'double tributes' rule is worrying everyone.

Step four: try not to be of Reaping age in a Quarter Quell year. It makes everything worse.

At the square, we register and head towards the section for seventeen year olds. Normally, the Seam kids and the Town kids don't really mix much but the Reaping is always an exception and I find that we are next to a few people from my class from the Seam and my friend Carys Jover. We all nod at each other and wish each other luck as though we actually speak. Solidarity – only at the worst of times.

At two o'clock, the mayor begins to read. He reads the same thing every year but this time, he's added something about the Quarter Quell. To show that for every Capitol citizen who died in the rebellion, so did two rebels, we have to play this extra game. I find myself gripping my sister's hand as he reads. I'm not sure when I did that.

Soon, our escort jumps up and starts to talk about how excited we should all be. I notice Al Janek, our only victor, looks tired. It's been twenty-eight years since he won; he's not even that old. He has to look after four tributes this year. I guess it's not going to be easy.

"So let's pick our tributes. Ladies first," the escort shouts out and I find myself gripping my sister's hand again. I'm probably crushing it but she isn't complaining. The escort goes to the first bowl. "Ren Marok."

I breathe out silently. One down. And then I hate myself for having such a horrible thought. Meanwhile, a fifteen-year-old girl walks up on stage, clenching her fists. Seam, by the look of her, and absolutely terrified. There are no volunteers.

"And for our second girl ... Maysilee Donner!"

I think I nearly break my sister's hand. Carys hugs me, gently prying me away from my sister. Then I force myself to break the embrace and walk forward. Behind me, I hear my sister sobbing. But I can't turn around.

Small steps. Get to the stage first and then worry about everything else. Steps for when you've been called to die. That's what I need.

Step one: Get up onto the stage and try not to plead for someone to switch places with you.

The escort is very happy to see me and instructs me to shake Al's hand after no one volunteers. Then she calls out the boys. They're both from the Seam – Lewes Welch and Haymitch Abernathy. I've seen them around once or twice but I've never really focussed on them. Haymitch is the only one of us who seems at all calm. Ren is crying and Lewes is obviously trying not to. So am I. The Hunger Games. Forty-seven other tributes. How am I supposed to survive?

We're told to go to the Justice Building. Haymitch walks off first.

Step two: walk to the Justice Building without breaking down.

I force myself to move. Ren and Lewes are behind me.

Step three: enter room and try not to cry.

I sit down and wait for my family. The fourth step will be to get through this hour without collapsing. The fifth step will be to get through preparation. The sixth step?

Try not to die.


	30. Mr Everdeen: Guilt

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Hunger Games_.

**A/n:** I have run out of things to say except i'm sick of reading law books and i hope you enjoy this one ;)

30) Mr Everdeen – Guilt

Most fathers want to protect their children from harm and the realities of life. In many ways, it is a natural instinct. There are, of course, some fathers who do not care about their children but they are not relevant at this moment in time.

The strange thing is that most of the time that Garner Everdeen does inadvertently reveal the harsh ways of the world to Katniss, he does not feel guilty. For example, when he first took her out hunting and shot an animal in front of her. She didn't seem upset by the sudden death of this living creature so he didn't feel guilty about teaching her how to do it. And when he sang _The Hanging Tree_ and caused her to sing along and make rope nooses, he did not feel guilty that he was exposing her to such depressing songs.

From telling her things about the Hunger Games to introducing her to the people from the Hob, Garner Everdeen justified every action and told himself that he was protecting her from any harms that would seriously hurt her by getting her accustomed to them now. She would grow up better for knowing some realities from such a young age.

Yet even Garner Everdeen knows there is one harm he could ever willingly expose her to and now that he is, the guilt he feels is tremendous. Katniss has never had anyone she, personally, knows die. She has never had to deal with the grief and the sense of loss. She has seen people who have lost older siblings to the Hunger Games but that is nowhere near the same intensity. No one who has never lost someone they love can know how painful it feels.

But as he sees the canary, lying dead, and realises that the entrance is too far away to run to, Garner Everdeen knows that this is one reality of life he will be exposing Katniss to whether he wants to or not. He will be making her grow up even more. And considering how old his daughter already seems, he wonders whether that will be a good thing. He doubts it.

As the air around him explodes, he thinks of his family and feels guilty that, the one time there was an unjustified harm affecting them, he's the one causing it, rather than stopping it.


	31. Mrs Everdeen: Juxtaposition

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Hunger Games_.

**A/n:** As you may have guessed, i am not a fan of writing the Everdeens ... nevertheless enjoy. And if you happen to know anything about state immunity, some advice will be welcomed ;)

31) Mrs Everdeen – Juxtaposition

Dear Katniss,

I'm writing you a letter you'll never read, dear. You'll win the Games and I'll throw away this letter so that you'll never know what I've written. You wouldn't accept it anyway because you were so hurt by what I did that you'll never forgive me.

What happened to me when your father died? How can I explain it, dear? Imagine the worst day of your life. Remember every feeling you had then. Multiply it by a hundred and you'll come close to how I felt every day. The truth is, I loved your father more than I thought possible and every day, I would see him dying in those mines. And everything would be pointless and depressing and bleak. I'm not proud of it, Katniss. But that is what it was.

What you won't believe is that, underneath all of this, I knew I should be doing more than just sitting there. Part of me was constantly reminding myself that I had to look after you and Prim. In some moments, I would see you looking after us and that part of me would try to force me up. Some days it worked, some days it didn't.

So, you see, that's what it was for me. A mix of despair, pointlessness, the need for action and the desire to help you and be the mother I was meant to be. Complete contrasts in my mind, I know. In a way, you're lucky you take after your father because you both stick to one problem at a time and work from there. Not me – I go all over the place. And that's how it was so easy for me to just give up.

I don't expect this letter to excuse me in the slightest. What I did was wrong – no mother should give up on their child. But, at the same time, my depression was strong. Another conflict. But, no, from your point of view, this letter can't excuse me. I don't ask it to. I just wanted to explain how I felt in the hope that, one day, you will forgive me for abandoning both you and Prim.

Except you will never read this and you will never know. And you would never accept anyway, dear.

Love,

Mother.


	32. Octavia: Ask

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Hunger Games_.

**A/n:** It's snowing :) Hope you enjoy (if not the fic then the snow)

32) Octavia – Ask

Compared to the people of District 13 and the other districts of Panem, Octavia has had it easy. It's something she has become increasingly, painfully aware of. She can see it in the glares of the citizens and, besides, she hears the mutterings. She never argues about this point.

The one thing she doesn't agree with (but still never argues about because she doesn't _like_ conflict) is that her life must have been perfect. Just because she lived in the Capitol where hunger, poverty and the grief associated with the Games were so very far away. Whenever she sees the glares, she has the sudden urge to tell them about her own upbringing. She never does, of course, because secrets are secrets and never to be told. But she thinks about it often.

The one, simple fact of her story is: she has never met her father.

At first, when she was very little, it didn't bother her that much. She loved her mother and her mother loved her. That was all there was to it. But, one day, it occurred to her that her family was missing something – a father.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

She first asked her mother what had happened to her father when she was six.

"He's gone away," she said in a tone which said that this was the end of the matter.

"When's he coming back?" Octavia asked, ignoring _the tone_.

"Don't ask questions."

"But-"

"No, Octavia." Her mother smiled sweetly. "Girls who keep asking questions don't get to watch TV."

That ended that particular discussion.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

It didn't end the matter. She didn't ask again until, one day, in school, stupid Junius, losing an argument with her, shouted that her dad had been shot for trying to kill the President. Of course Octavia shouted that he hadn't but, when she got home, she immediately went to her mother.

"How come I never met my dad?" she asked.

"Don't ask questions, Octavia."

"But, Mom, why won't you tell me?"

"Because you don't need to know the answer. Aren't we happy as we are?"

"Yeah..." Octavia thought for a moment and then summoned up all of her nine year old courage. "But, Mom, Junius was shouting at me today and he said my dad tried to kill the President and they killed him. It's not true, is it, Mom?"

Her mother jerked slightly before smiling that sweet smile. "Of course it isn't, Octavia. Now, no more questions."

Octavia left that conversation satisfied. Her mother wouldn't lie to her.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

She found a photo of her mother with a man with Octavia's nose and eyes (though a different colour). She asked her mother if it was her father. She said no. And told her not to ask any more questions.

Octavia began to wonder whether maybe, just maybe, her mother would lie to her after all.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

In History class, they looked at recent, famous Capitol rebels. Among the many photos from thirteen years before was the man with Octavia's nose and eyes (though a different colour). He hadn't attempted to shoot the President but he had been part of a small group who had managed to destroy one small street in the Capitol (given the success rate of the Peacekeepers, this was enough to brand them as major terrorists). No one else seemed to have noticed the connection. They probably weren't even looking at him. But Octavia was transfixed.

"Mom," she said when she got home, "Who was my father?"

"Not this again. Look, Octavia, your father was a man I met once and never saw again. Happy?"

The idea stung but she was determined to follow through. She brought out the book. "Then who's this, Mom?"

"I don't know."

"He's the man in your photo," she continued. "He's my father, isn't he?"

_Crack!_

Octavia wiped her cheek, her eyes filling with tears. Her mother glared at her.

"I told you not to ask questions. Now go to your room."

"Yes, Mom."

It was the first time her mother had so much as raised a finger to her.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

It was the start of a deterioration in Octavia and her mother's relationship. Octavia would ask all sorts of annoying questions and ignore her mother's orders. Her mother would shout and order her to her room.

Often, Octavia would ask about her father. She always escaped before her mother could slap her. She didn't have enough courage to face that again.

On Octavia's eighteenth birthday, she announced that she was going to move out to a friend's apartment. She was going to work in fashion and aim to be a stylist in the Hunger Games. At the door, she said softly, "Who was my father, Mother?"

For a few seconds, her mother didn't answer. And then, she said, "If I told you who your father was, everyone would know who your father was. And that would be bad for us, Octavia. I never agreed with him and you shouldn't either."

"What?"

Her mother simply shook her head. "There are some things better left unasked, Octavia, remember that."

"I don't understand."

"I know."

Octavia left after that. She never spoke to her mother again.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Her mother's words have never left her. In spare moments, Octavia often wondered what her mother had meant. But as she faces these people in District 13, she finally understands. These people don't ask her about her family because there's no point. But it doesn't matter because Octavia would never answer; it would suggest she's someone she isn't if she tells them her father was a Capitol rebel. So asking her about her father is a question best left unasked in much the same way that her questioning her mother about him was a question best left unuttered.

But not because of the question. The question itself may be fine. No, Octavia realises. The reason some things are best left unasked is because once they're asked, there is every chance that you will receive the answer. And seeing the vengeful faces of these rebels, she knows that too much knowledge can be a dangerous thing. For the asker and the answerer.


	33. Other Tributes: Yes

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Hunger Games_.

**A/n:** I was completely serious when i said EVERY character on that list. Admittedly, having now written this, i can see why most people avoid this character when using prompts. It's one of only two where i've also had to interpret the character... Nevertheless, i hope you enjoy. Or at the least don't find it too odd.

33) Other Tributes – Yes

Who am I?

_"Are you scared, honey?"_

_"Yes."_

_I should tell the truth._

It doesn't matter, really. Not anymore. Not that it ever mattered before. Not to you.

_"Do you forgive me for not volunteering for you?"_

_"Yes."_

_What else can I say?_

You don't know my name, do you? You're enjoying my death and you can't even remember my name. You probably don't even realise I have one. I don't know your name either. But then, I've never seen you in my life. At least _I_ know you're human.

_"Have you got a plan for winning the Games?"_

_"Yes."_

_Just don't ask me what it is because I can't lie _that_ well_.

Do you know _anything_ about me at all? Or am I just some character, dying in some field away from you? For your entertainment, dear viewer. Guess I'm not going to be _that_ victor, am I? Maybe I'm not _that_ touching death either or _that_ well-deserved one which you'd remember for weeks afterwards. Maybe I'm just here to be ignored. An extra, unworthy of your attention.

You sicken me, viewer. You honestly do.

_"I love you. You love me too, right?"_

_"Yes."_

_Too late to change my mind now, isn't it?_

I'll help you out a bit. I'm _that_ kid. I'm the one who didn't have a chance, who wasn't important enough to register in anyone's mind. I'm the one who didn't get any sponsors – including you, because you sponsored the strong tribute or the beautiful one. I'm the one who lied to everyone when I said goodbye in the Justice Building. Because there was no way to admit the truth. The one who said yes to every question.

_"Do you promise to come home?"_

_"Yes."_

_In a coffin._

Who am I?

_"You do know you'll always be in our hearts, right?"_

_"Yes."_

_Until you die too and all I am is a gravestone in the district._

I'm someone's child, someone's sibling, someone's friend. I'm someone whose family is crying for them, right now, as I lie dying. But not to you. To you, I'm simply another tribute, unimportant to the overall story. Someone whose death you revel in. Someone you'll forget in a heartbeat.

Not that you ever cared to begin with.


	34. Peeta Mellark: Volunteer

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Hunger Games_.

**Review Reply to **_SleepAsSmallStars_ - Thanks for the review. If you have feedback for other stuff, tell me. It's useful to know where i'm going wrong. Admittedly, telling me in the middle of term is a bit tricky as i don't have time to do any writing but i always come back to feedback for future stuff!

**Review Reply to **_GirlOnFire44_ - Thanks for the reviews :)

**Review Reply to **_Lane_ - I guess one thousand tributes would be a tad hard to name in the characters list ;) But i'm glad you liked the idea. Thanks for the review!

**A/n:** I know everyone has high expectations for Peeta so i don't know if this can match them. Nevertheless, i hope you enjoy.

34) Peeta Mellark - Volunteer

"Come on, Dad," the man says. "Leave her for a few hours and sit with us. We're worried."

"No, son," Peeta replies tiredly. "I promised to be with her, always."

"I think she'd let you have a few hours in the warm, Dad."

He shakes his head. "I can't leave her."

His son sits next to him. "Fine," he says in an easy tone, "then I'll sit with you and we can both freeze."

"Go inside, son."

"Not unless you do."

Despite himself, Peeta smiles. "You have your mother's determination."

The man smiles back. "Funny," he says. "She always said that I had _your_ determination." He pauses and then adds, "And your ability to do stupid things for people I love."

Peeta doesn't reply. They stare at the coffin in silence.

The fact is: it isn't meant to be this way. Peeta Mellark is _not_ supposed to be the last one of them all to die. After all the things he volunteered to do to save Katniss – joining the Careers, volunteering for the Quell, getting information to District 13, going on the final propos shoot – he wasn't supposed to lose her to _old age_! It doesn't make any sense. Surely, given all that he volunteered for, he should have died first.

But then, she was a volunteer too. Maybe that cancels it out and she was always supposed to die before him because she was from the Seam whereas he was from the town. He doesn't believe that though. He said that he would die to protect Katniss first. She originally planned to live whereas he planned to die. Maybe it's childish but he's always felt that this unspoken agreement (even though Katniss tried to reverse itmany times during the rest of their lives) is the valid one because it came first. She should be alive now. Not him.

And what happened to Gale and Annie and Johanna and all of these others? All of them, lost to illness and age. All these people who tried to survive are dead and he, death's volunteer, still lives.

It doesn't make any sense.

"Come on, Dad," his son says, breaking the silence. "You're turning blue."

He looks at his hand. So he is.

"No, son-"

"Would Mom really want you to freeze to death beside her body?" his son interrupts. Peeta is silent so he continues. "She'd want you to mourn her in a way which doesn't kill you."

There's some truth to that. Because Katniss and Peeta protected each other. That's what they did. That was Real when he was seventeen and it was Real when she died – sixty years after she said it. At the very least, she would be really angry if he gets himself killed by sitting out here. No matter how much he loved angry Katniss, it didn't mean he didn't try to avoid her in that state.

He gets up slowly. A look of relief flickers across his son's face as the young man (such a startling mix of himself and Katniss) holds his arm. He can't resist glancing back at her body. Then he begins to walk.

"I should have died first, you know," he mumbles as his son pulls him indoors.

"Of course not, Dad," his son replies. "She'd have killed you if you left her."


	35. Plutarch Heavensbee: Dart

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Hunger Games_.

**Review Reply to **_ivyflightislistening - _Thanks for the review!

**A/n:** There may be daily updates from now on in - i'm home for the holidays. And to cheer everyone up, this one is not depressing. Enjoy!

35) Plutarch Heavensbee – Dart

"Alright, Plutarch, what are we meant to be looking at?"

Plutarch grins at his fellow Gamemakers. "My friends, this is the latest in developed technology." He opens his hand. "Take a look!"

They lean in. Then they step back. Plutarch smiles at them. Eventually, Hestia decides to ask.

"Plutarch," she says carefully, "this _is_ the revolutionary weapon, right?"

"Yes."

"The one which will provide our viewers with an excellent show in the Games?"

"Yes."

"It's a dart."

"Aha!" Plutarch's smile grows wider despite the apparent impossibilities of this. "That's the brilliance of it! It's small but deadly. Like a snail."

The Gamemakers trade looks. "Snails aren't dangerous," one of them ventures.

"Ever stepped on a poisonous one?"

"No..."

"Probably why you're still alive then, if you take that attitude to them." Plutarch looks at their incredulous faces and laughs. "Anyway, this isn't _just_ a dart, my friends. It's so much more. If you set it under the ground, it can explode on a set timer and destroy everything in a fifty metre radius. They can be programmed to chase people and hitting their arms will inject venom so potent, they will be writhing in pain for an hour before dying."

"And?"

"What do you mean?"

"Do they do anything else apart from explode, inject poison and give you nice snail analogies?"

"Well ... you could probably get a game of darts in if you were bored."

"How much does this cost to make?"

Plutarch quotes the price. The Gamemakers raise their eyebrows in a movement not quite synchronised but still somewhat similar.

"So, Plutarch, let me get this straight," Demetrius says in his dry voice. "This little dart will do the same job as a mine or a bomb and the same job as poisonous gas – but not at the same time."

"Given time, I'm sure I could overc-"

"In addition to this, it will cost more than both of those items _combined_ will to make," he continues, ignoring Plutarch. "And its only redeeming feature is that, if the tributes are _bored_, they can have a nice game of darts."

"When you put it like that-"

"Hands up who's in favour of not allowing Plutarch's snail dart?"

Nineteen hands go up. Plutarch sighs.

"Fine," he grumbles. Then he smiles. "But I have more to show you. Just wait here."

He turns around to find his next weapon. When he turns back, everyone has disappeared. He groans.

"Not again," he mutters. "Why do they do this _every week_?"


	36. Portia: Weasel

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Hunger Games_.

**A/n:** This is longer than I originally planned. Please, enjoy.

36) Portia – Weasel

As a District stylist, Portia has always been the leader of her small prep team, but nothing more. All she had to do was direct them as to what she wanted doing to Peeta. That was it – no real leadership involved. When they first arrived here, she assumed they would see through that. After all, Faustus is old enough to be her father. But since this began, Albina, Rufus _and_ Faustus have looked to her. And Portia has never been one to shrink away from duty.

The truth is, though, that unlike in the Hunger Games, there hasn't been much that Portia could help them with here: she's in exactly the same position as they are. But she knows she has to do something, to stop them all from crumbling. She can't help them with hair styles or make-up but the one thing she knows they _all_ need is courage. Courage to face the situation. Courage to stand up for themselves. Courage to simply exist. So she has spent all of this time trying to be courageous and trying to help them be the same.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

It started with a Peacekeeper. Peacekeeper Livius. Who has the rather unfortunate problem of looking like a weasel. Peacekeepers don't fashion their hair or their skin so he doesn't even have that excuse. It's something Portia took advantage of almost immediately.

Whenever he asked her questions, Portia would comment on how, with the right treatment (brush the hair back here, a bit of blusher there) he could look less like a weasel. It touched a raw nerve and she received double punishment. Yet she _felt_ brave and she was hopeful that this would help her team keep hope.

It didn't seem to work. Albina, Faustus and Rufus were not that inclined to follow her example and seemed as miserable as before. But she kept on trying because, if nothing else, she needed something to help her stand up tall. As time went on, Portia began to ruminate on how changing his looks wouldn't help because he acted a bit weaselly anyway. It made Rufus laugh, at least. He was punished as well, for insubordination, and the look he gave her showed both outrage and defiance. From then on, he joined in with the weasel-baiting.

Weasel-baiting in a dangerous sport, requiring nerves of steel and patience. Portia had always had the second quality but the first one was harder to obtain. Every time she opened her mouth, part of her would scream for her just to stay quiet. But she had to rebel, for Cinna and Peeta and Katniss.

Faustus started to join in soon after seeing how much happier Portia and Rufus were even though they were physically in worse condition. And, finally, Albina joined in, albeit quietly and fearfully. Portia had helped them with courage. She'd been a true leader.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

But happiness doesn't always last long. Today, they have been escorted out of their cell. To say the four of them are surprised is an understatement. Weasel Livius (his new name. A compromise, according to Faustus) has been smiling nastily and making all sorts of comments. Even Portia's retorts have done little to annoy him.

When they are dumped on the stage in front of the cameras and Weasel Livius takes a gun, they know what is happening. To Portia's pleasure, her prep team do not cry or plead or moan as they would have done before the Quell. Instead, Albina comments that weasels are not normally given guns because they don't have the brainpower to use them. Rufus nicknames the other three Peacekeepers as Ferret, Stoat and Worm. Worm, to her credit, takes this quite stoically. Ferret and Stoat are not so pleased.

The cameras roll and the executions of Peeta's prep team are announced, as a warning to the rebels. Weasel grabs Portia and binds her, forcing her to watch as each Peacekeeper goes forward and holds a prep team member.

Weasel Livius walks to Faustus first. The Peacekeeper has wiped his face clean of emotion as he raises the gun to Faustus' head. A simple shot which echoes throughout the room and through Portia's heart. Faustus collapses. His face is expressionless. He probably didn't realise it was coming.

Albina is next. She clenches her fists, closes her eyes and falls forward as the bullet speeds through her skull. Portia can see blood knotting on the back. At least it doesn't touch the solitary tear that was falling down Albina's cheek.

Rufus grins at Portia. He's the youngest member of the team – just eighteen – and wants nothing more than to be happy. His grin is a mix of pain and reassurance. He's too young to die. Weasel pushes his head forward. By now he is smirking. But so is Rufus.

"Long live the mock-"

His words finish there. Portia wonders whether it was supposed to be support for Katniss or rebellion against the Capitol. She doesn't know. But part of her suspects that it was neither, because Rufus loved the Capitol and didn't know much about the rebellion. She thinks it was simply support for Portia. Who supports Katniss who supports the rebellion.

He died before his time. Portia squeezes her eyes shut and opens them. She refuses to cry. Not in front of the Capitol.

Weasel Livius finally reaches her. He leers at her. "Bet you're sorry now," he hisses.

"At least I'll die pretty," she hisses back with as much composure as she can muster. "Unlike a certain weasel. Long live the mockingjay."

Infuriated, he releases her bonds. She nearly topples forward but he grabs her roughly and forces her to the front of the stage. The gun is placed at the back of her head. It's surprisingly cool.

She keeps her hands loose by her side and fixes a smile on her face. Die with courage. Just as her prep team did. Just as she learnt to do. That's all she has to d-

_Bang_.


	37. President Snow: Elver

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Hunger Games_.

**A/n:** It's depressing to have six weeks holiday but have to start working after 4 days of it... hope you enjoy!

37) President Snow (Coriolanus) – Elver

The poison was in the cup. It would kill anyone who drank it within two days unless the antidote was taken.

The antidote was in the elver pie. It would save anyone who drank the poison as long as they took it within twelve hours. Maximum.

He'd been told that this would be safe. Drink the poison and, as soon as possible, eat some of the elver pie. The longer he left it, the lower his chances of survival, of course. But he would be eating it within minutes. He would be fine and his opponent would be dead.

Knowing something is never enough to actually do it though. You have to _need_ it. Snow watched as his opponent drank the 'rare' wine from the cup and tried to imagine what would happen if he didn't do the next thing. He'd be found out. Executed. Disgraced.

"Mind if I taste?" he asked politely. His opponent raised an eyebrow but handed over the cup. Snow forced himself to drink deeply, handed the cup back and watched his opponent finish it off. After some forced, polite talk, Snow excused himself. He still held the elver pie. The slice with the antidote, as he had arranged. Slowly, he began to eat it. This was working out perfectly, although the elver wasn't exactly fresh. A mere downside. In two days, his opponent would be dead and he, as the natural choice, would be promoted. No one would even _think_ it was him because he had also drunk the poison. Those who knew were loyal to him and him alone.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

"It went wrong," he hissed to his poisoner. "My gut feels like it's on fire. You _killed_ me. I'll see you swing for this, before I die."

"Let me take a look at you," the man replied calmly and examined Snow as he writhed in agony. Blood was beginning to ooze out of his mouth. The man sat back. "You're not going to die, Coriolanus."

"I _feel_ like I'm dying."

"You were close, I grant you. Tell me, what did you conceal the poison in?"

"A slice of elver pie."

"Hmm, I see. Well, there are two possibilities: one, the antidote just wasn't working and you've had a lucky escape, or two – and I think this is the most likely – there is something in elver which counteracts the antidote. Probably not entirely but it's lucky you didn't drink more of the wine."

Snow coughed. Blood splattered onto the bed covers. "When will ... I recover?"

The man thought for a moment. "From the stomach pains and such effects – within the next three days with this medicine. But the sores in your mouth are a different story."

"What do you mean?"

"I'll be honest here, Coriolanus. Although the sores will get better, you'll never fully recover. If I were you, I'd find a way to mask the smell of blood and indulge in some red handkerchiefs."

Snow lay back, his face expressionless.

"You may go. Thank you."

"Of course." The man walked to the door. He stopped. "Oh, and Coriolanus?" Snow looked up. "I'm sorry to tell you that Appius Trams has passed away. Poison is a suspected cause of death but, officially, it seems it was some type of disease he didn't know he had. They're planning to promote you, when you recovers from your illness." He walked out of the room.

Snow smiled before coughing up more blood. It was worth it after all.


	38. Primrose Everdeen: Quid Pro Quo

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Hunger Games_.

**Review Reply to _GirlOnFire44_ -** Thanks for the review. The Foxface one was not supposed to be about the arena or any of the facts we know about Foxface hence it was a tad confusing. It was simply a scene from her life before the Games. Does that clarify it at all? If not, sorry for the confusion!

**A/n:** OK, i'm not going to lie: this is a confusing one. It took me 4 drafts to get my head around it. If you don't get it the first time, i'd advise reading it again (and then ranting at me when it *still* makes no sense ;)). It's not a typical oneshot but more a philisophical consideration of Katniss and Prim's relationship. Which says it all really. Hope you enjoy, regardless!

38) Primrose Everdeen – Quid Pro Quo

A very common saying is "fair exchange is no robbery". It is a saying which is supposed to emphasise how fair a deal was. It is often said when someone has just received the losing end of a bargain and simply demonstrates how stupid that person was. Consequently, it is not a nice saying.

A less common saying is "quid pro quo". It essentially means: tit for tat. In other words, equal actions on both sides. A real fair exchange. The connotations of this saying are generally quite positive.

Primrose Everdeen's life, in relation to her sister, can be seen in terms of both of these exchanges. Quite often, Katniss would do something for Prim or because of her. An action based on something Prim must have done. Sometimes, of course, Prim would do something for Katniss.

People separate her exchanged into the two categories. A "fair exchange" has often been seen where Prim simply existed. For example, Prim gave Katniss a reason to win the Hunger Games by simply being her sister. In return, Katniss won the Hunger Games to keep Prim alive. One person does all the work. The 'losing' person, or so people say. As such, these exchanges are seen as Prim doing nothing and simply being a burden upon Katniss' life, no matter how fulfilled she may have been or how much she needed this existence. Somehow, it comes to naught. Inherently, it seems "fair exchanges" must be wrong and unfair.

"Quid pro quo" exchanges seem to occur more where Prim actually did something. For example, when Katniss sparked a rebellion and caused everyone to move to District 13, Prim's life improved. In return, Prim sat with Katniss and helped her work through the anxieties which other people knew nothing of. An action for an action. Equal actions. Thus people say it is right that Prim should be repaid. Perhaps Katniss would not have felt any differently if Prim had not acted but that appears to be irrelevant. Inherently, it seems "quid pro quo" must be right and fair.

Considering these conclusions, one reaches the question: if fair exchange is wrong and quid pro quo is right then why does the latter _feel_ so wrong? After all, when something is right, it must surely bring happiness. Yet this was not the case at all. For the biggest and most important exchange between Prim and Katniss, as far as people are concerned, was a "quid pro quo".

When Katniss went to the streets of the Capitol and lost her life trying to save people, Prim repaid her by going to the streets of the Capitol and losing her life trying to save people. Quid pro quo. Equal actions on both sides.

When Prim lost her life, she gave Snow the ability to let Katniss know what Coin was really like. Katniss saved Panem because Prim had given her the means to do so. Quid pro quo. Equal actions on both sides.

The pain suffered by Katniss, her mother, Gale, Peeta and many others was immense. An aftermath of the exchanges. Surely something which is inherently right should be inherently happy too. Or perhaps not. Perhaps it is simply that for something to be right, sacrifices have to be made. That was Prim. The death of one prevented the death of thousands and caused happiness for everyone else. There is something inherently right about this idea. Of course, this is because no one can ever know the alternative - what if Katniss never initiated the first exchange? What if Prim never went to the Capitol? – and so no one can ever know and will never wish to know whether the final result could have been achieved without these exchanges.

Maybe "fair exchange is no robbery" is inherently worse than "quid pro quo". But the fact remains that, at least for a small number of people, when the exchanges between the Everdeen sisters were of a 'fair' nature, they were happier. Of course, the rest of the world was no happier with those exchanges. And the unhappiness of a few is worth it for the happiness of many. The many did not know Prim and could not be affected by her death. Thus "quid pro quo" is inherently better than "fair exchange is no robbery".

But only for the rest of the world.


	39. Rue: Boundary

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Hunger Games_.

**A/n:** It's alright, i stopped trying to be philisophical. Please enjoy while i attempt to describe myself in 850 words (don't ask...)

39) Rue – Boundary

Rue darts through the forest, constantly watchin' for people. It looks stupid – my older sister, who I always thought was so big, is tiny in this arena. None of us 've said it but we're all surprised she's made it this long. Well, me, Mama, Papa and maybe Gidde are anyway. She told us all she'd come home so Veera and Raym believe her. Hafen's too little to know what's going on.

I think Gidde thinks that she's doin' so well that she's got to win now. Sometimes, I think that too. But when Rue's not here, I'm in charge so I got to think properly an' she can't win. Not unless Katniss protects her all the way through. I keep tellin' myself that but I can't make myself remember it.

We're squashed in this room, watchin' her on screen. Veera and Gidde are arguin' about something or other, not really payin' attention. Actually, I think Gidde is tryin' to watch but Veera isn't. Mama's tryin' to get them to hush an' I'm hoverin' an' Papa's checkin' on Hafen in the corner. An' that's when Raym yells.

"Rue!"

We all look back. She's in a net. My heart starts beatin' real fast 'cause if she's in a net, she can't get down an' that boy who made the net might come back an'...

I hug Raym and tell him it's gonna be OK to stop myself from finishin' that thought. I don't know if he can tell I'm lyin' but he nods anyway. Veera and Gidde stop arguin' and Mama holds Veera's hand. We're all silen'.

For the next few hours, we all keep watchin'. Rue's stopped tryin' to free herself 'cause it's impossible. She needs a knife an' she hasn't got one. Gidde and Veera start arguin' again but quietly and they always look back to the TV. Like they're too scared to really stop watchin' her.

It's funny: everyone always says that Rue's like a mockingjay. But it's not true. Mockingjays are free to go where they want to and Rue's never been free. Not really. We've always had some boundary keepin' us where we are. Even in the arena, she couldn't go out of the trees 'cause if she did, someone'd kill her. And now she's in this net. Course, Papa would say that mockingjays can be caught like this too but that's a one-time thing, right?

The screen's been showin' the boy from District 1 and Katniss for a while. When we see the boy come across Rue in the net an' she starts screaming for Katniss, I grab Raym an' cover his eyes. Gidde and Veera shut up. Katniss gets there just as the boy puts his spear through Rue.

My grip on Raym tightens an' he complains. Then he feels the tears fallin' off my face onto his head an' he shuts up again.

She's goin' to die.

My sister's goin' to die.

The room feels like it's comin' closer to me an' my breathin' feels funny like I'm not gettin' enough air. She can't be dyin'. I know I said she was goin' to die but I never meant it. She's not dyin'.

I look up and see that Katniss has killed the boy and is holdin' Rue. Not like I'm holdin' Raym – gentle, like. Like she's scared to make things worse.

"Sing," Rue whispers on screen. An' it's so much like Rue that I want to laugh but when I try, more tears fall out of my eyes an' I gulp for more oxygen like I'm sobbin' instead. Mama an' Papa are with Veera an' Gidde but Raym twists and hugs me. I don't know if he knows Rue's dyin'. I'm still not lettin' him see. She wouldn't want him to see her die. She wouldn't forgive me if I let him see that.

Katniss starts singin' in a voice which is almost as good as Mama's an' Rue's. I'm so caught up by it that Raym manages to break free halfway through. I make a grab back for him but he dodges and then sits by me, holdin' my hand and sobbin'. I don't try an' grab him back. I can't make myself move. I can only do these huge, gulpy breaths.

It's almost like a mockingjay, in a way, Rue gettin' Katniss to sing back for her. But isn't Rue the mockingjay here? Or is her gettin' caught just one boundary too many for her to be a proper one? Maybe Katniss is the real mockingjay after all.

An' then the song finishes an' that cannon fires. We're all silen'. 'Cept for the sobbin'. Everyone's cryin'.

"Papa," Veera whispers after a while, "why'd Rue die?"

I look at Papa. I wonder what he's gonna say. I wonder what the answer is.

"Because the Capitol made it so, Veera," he answers in a real quiet voice. "But every time you think of it, just think of this. You can't keep mockingjays, can you?"

"No, Papa."

"Course not. Mockingjays aren't meant to be trapped by human boundaries. They're meant to fly free. And that's what's happened here. Rue's free now – where no one can hurt her or starve her or anything."

"But I wanted her to live."

I expect somethin' else off Papa but he just nods. I realise that Papa don't know why she had to die either.

"She's free now, and happy," Mama whispers. "That's what's important."

"Wasn't she happy before?" Raym asks.

"Yes, son," Papa says, placin' his hand on Raym's shoulder. "But she wasn't free. And just like you have to let mockingjays go, we have to let Rue go."

"But-"

"Leave it, Veera," I say, now that I stopped gulpin'. "She's not meant to be dead. But she is. An' she's free. So we should be happy 'cause she's never gonna get caught again. That's what Papa's sayin'."

"I still wish she was alive," Veera mutters.

I scoop Veera into a hug. "So do I, Veera. So do I." Tears start fallin' down my face again. "But at least she ain't caught no more."


	40. Seeder: Luck

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Hunger Games_.

**A/n:** Would just like to clear something up - the last oneshot is not supposed to be in a "southern" accent. I have only met one Southern US person in my life and they didn't talk like that so the resemblance is coincidental/accidental. It was just kiddish slang and is actually similar to how I talk (I do live in the south. However, i live in the south of the UK, not America). Hope that clears it up ;) And i hope you enjoy :)

40) Seeder – Luck

"So," Chaff says conversationally, "What do you regret most about all of this?"

It is the night before he and Seeder are to go into the arena for the second time in their lives. The time to worry has passed.

Seeder smiles at him. "Not seeing my grandchildren grow up. What else?" He scowls slightly. "What about you, Chaff?"

He shrugs, his smile gone. Chaff lost his wife and daughter to disease when he was twenty-three. The medicine had to be imported from the Capitol. They refused to send it. Sometimes, Seeder gets the impression that he resents all the fortune she's had in her life. But he's never been overtly sour about it and she's never wanted to hurt their friendship by asking. So there has always existed an awkward bubble of being unable to talk about family and home life with each other.

"What do I have to miss?" he asks as though it was a stupid question. Seeder looks apologetic and he softens before giving her his old, easy grin. "Guess it's a pity I didn't get the chance to see if my liver was gonna give out first." Seeder rolls her eyes and he laughs. Then he looks away. "You could still live, though," he says seriously.

"Not a chance," she says in a warm voice. She knew she would die when her name was pulled out. She had accepted it long ago.

Ruta walks in. "Now, Seeder, we don't send tributes into the arena thinking they're going to die. Positive energy, remember?" Her voice is gently teasing – Seeder was her mentor in the Games and this is what she said to her the night before she went into the arena. It has become an old joke between the two of them because Ruta could not think of anything which sounded more stupid to say to a nervous tribute. Of course, Seeder might _not_ die in the arena but if they are going to free Katniss and Peeta, she probably will. Everyone knows that. But Ruta can't just say it.

"Sorry, Ruta," Seeder answers and smiles back.

"But you're lucky," Chaff says, apparently determined to press his original point home. His eyes meet hers and she can see that he's being serious. "Always said that about you. I mean, you got through your Games by pretty much randomly avoiding everyone else, and you've got all your family and happiness in one piece."

Seeder nods. She isn't at all offended by Chaff's description of her Games because _everyone_ including herself realised that she had won by virtue of never being in the same place as anyone else and always being just out of range of the disasters. "I know I won by pure chance," she says quietly, "but luck doesn't hold out forever, Chaff. If it did, I wouldn't be in the Quell now."

Chaff grins. "Why've you got to be so down, Seeder?" He gestures wildly with his good arm, his eyes following the direction he points in. "One of us will get out, I know it."

She stares at him, as does Ruta. "Me being down?" she asks. "You started this!"

"Yeah, but you know me – I never talk sense." He looks back at her, winks and laughs. She smiles, somehow glad that they are back onto 'normal' conversations.

"So you think one of us will get out?" she asks. There's silence for a moment and she mentally curses herself for bringing the conversation back onto this topic. It looks as though Chaff is serious enough not to lie about something like this because he shows no sign of answering.

"I know _one_ of you will," Ruta finally says in a teasing tone, breaking the tension. "I'm Seeder's mentor now, right?"

Chaff laughs. "OK, bad luck there, Seeder. Maybe I'll be the survivor after all." Ruta whacks the back of his head. He rubs it. "Ow! Sorry. But yes, Seeder," he continues, looking at his hand, "One of us will."

"How can you be so sure?" she asks, looking at him.

"Call it a hunch, lass," he says, his eyes still on his hand. "But I've just got a good feeling about this whole thing." He looks up. "One of us has got to get out alive."

His eyes won't meet hers as he says this. Seeder smiles nonetheless. "You're right," she says. "Of course one of us will. I guess I was just ... worrying about nothing." She's still looking in his direction but her gaze has slipped to his ear.

He shrugs. "I'd be more worried about the fact you're never going to see this bottle again."

"Really?"

"Not when I down it now, you won't."

"Chaff!"

He chuckles and starts to drink. Seeder reaches out and grabs the bottle. They laugh, their previous conversation apparently forgotten.

Except they still won't meet each other's eyes.


	41. Thresh: Knife

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Hunger Games_.

**Review reply to **_GirlOnFire44: _Thanks for the reviews. Sorry about the confusion. It's quite difficult to write that kind of thinking clearly. I think the accent point's already been explained ;)

**Review reply to **_s.p_ - Thanks for reviewing - especially if you don't normally review! I feel honoured :) I'm glad you understood it.

**A/n:** As always, the prompt is random. However, i'm sure you can guess which type of crime i feel strongly about from this... Enjoy!

41) Thresh – Knife

Of course, none of the tributes or the Capitol citizens knows about the scar on his chest. It wasn't too hard to hide it from the tributes – he wasn't exactly stripping every other second – and he didn't have a spare shirt to change into in the arena so that wasn't a problem either.

His mentor knew about the scar because his stylist had seen it. He could have told the truth when he was asked about it but, instead, he just said he'd gotten in the way of one of the harvesting blades when he was younger and this was the result of a lucky escape. His mentor seemed to accept that and looked slightly annoyed that they couldn't use it to their advantage in the interview.

The truth was nowhere near so pleasant. He had been eleven years old at the time and still living with his father and mother. His sister had been eight.

There was an argument. Of course there was – a day without an argument in the family was like a day where the sun rises in the south. Impossible, in other words. But this argument was different because his mother was shouting back. And his father was near a knife.

Thresh knew what was going to happen before his mother did. He didn't even think about it – he just pushed her out of the way. Startled, Thresh's father's arm jerked slightly and, instead of the death blow he had intended, a side cut was issued. Deep but if the bleeding was stopped quickly enough, not deadly.

That was the end of it. What had happened horrified his father so much that he realised the wickedness of his ways. He looked after his son, stopped shouting at his wife and they lived happily.

Wrong. That was the end which _should_ have happened. What actually happened was that his father kicked Thresh out of the way and proceeded to plunge the knife into the torso of Thresh's mother. _Then _his father came to his senses and saw his son and his wife's body. He turned the knife on himself.

It was the worst day of Thresh's life. A day which only two people knew about – his grandmother and his sister. But it was a day which taught him something important: a knife is one of the most dangerous items anyone can have. People with knives do not see reason. They do not stop themselves. They simply continue causing destruction until they are stopped.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

The Knife girl has the Fire girl caught on the floor and is holding a knife over her. Thresh's heart quickens. He'd seen the way she used that knife earlier in the makes him sick to watch. But he can't just intervene-

"Forget it, District Twelve," Knife girl sneers. "We're going to kill you. Just like we did your pathetic little ally … what was her name? The one who hopped around in the trees? Rue? Well, first Rue, then you…"

He is drawn back to a knife being plunged into a screaming woman as his own chest streams with blood. Without realising it, he is running. Towards the knife. Towards his father. But this time, he is bigger and stronger. He picks her up as he couldn't do with _him_.

"What'd you do to that little girl? You kill her?"

But he already knows the answer. After all, she has a knife.


	42. Unknown: Assess

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Hunger Games_.

**Review reply to **_Reba Pudding_ - Thanks :)

**Review reply to **_GirlOnFire44_ - Thanks for the review. I have to admit, I actually didn't like the prompt or trying to fit Thresh to it so i'm glad you liked it :)

**A/n:** I don't really understand the 'unknown' character. I mean, if you're writing about, say, Jackson, why not have a character slot for her? And there's 'other tributes' for unnamed tributes from any Games. Surely, if you're writing about an unknown character, they're not unknown anymore? I suppose i can understand it in a way. But i really don't understand 'unknown 2'... Hope you enjoy!

42) Unknown – Assess

"Those things are after us!"

"What do we do?"

"We have to face them."

"What, and get ourselves killed?"

"No, let's stay here and get killed in five minutes. That's _so_ much better."

"Look, there are four of us and we can fight. Let's just get out there and take them down. They're not invincible."

"Why are they even after us?"

"I don't know. I don't care. If you don't shut up, you won't care either. Because you'll be _dead_."

"OK, OK."

"So, on the count of three, let's get out there."

"Wait!"

"What?"

"How do I know one of you won't just wait here while I go and die?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah."

"Oh for the love of ... this doesn't even go far enough back to protect anyone ... OK, fine. Everyone get by the entrance. Grab each other's hand. We'll all go out. That way, none of us can go back. OK?"

"...Fine."

"Good. On three then. One. Two. Three."

(_The 42nd Hunger Games. The male tribute from District 1, the female tribute from District 2 and the tributes from District 4 – more commonly referred to as 'Careers' – had been chased into a small cave by mutts and discussed the best way to survive. On the suggestion of the girl from District 4, they ran out, holding hands, and fought back. The girl from District 4 was killed very quickly as was the boy from District 1. The boy from District 4 died at the end of the battle. The girl from District 2 survived the battle and went on to win the Games themselves, albeit with the loss of sight in one eye. Despite the traditional approach of 'Career' victors, she never forgot the three tributes she fought with and made an effort to ensure their graves were adorned with flowers every year on, until her death in the second rebellion of Panem._)

* * *

"They're outside and waiting for us. I can hear them."

"I know."

"So, what do we do?"

"What are our options?"

"We can stay here and get killed."

"OK, no. Next?"

"We can run out madly, try to escape and get killed."

"Next."

"We can run out madly, try to fight them off and-"

"If your next words are going to be 'get killed' then I don't want to know ... is that all?"

"Well ... there _is_ one other option but..."

"Come on, we don't have time!"

"One of us runs out and draws them away. The other one can sneak out in the confusion. But the first one will probably die."

"Damned if you do, damned if you don't ... alright, you wait at the back. I'm faster. I'll run out, draw them away and meet you by the house with the red roof."

"But-"

"You said 'probably' die, not definitely. Come on, this is our best chance."

"... Fine."

"Good. On three then. One. Two. Three."

(_The 57th Hunger Games. The male tributes from District 5 and District 9 – who had formed a temporary alliance –_ _discussed the best way to escape from the strong group of tributes who had found their base. The boy from District 5 eventually ran out and managed to draw the group one hundred metres away, where they killed him. The boy from District 9 escaped but was shot in the leg. He eventually won the Games. He made sure to mention his companion in his victory tour and worked to ensure that his family always had some money off him every year onwards, until his death in the second rebellion of Panem._)

* * *

"What's the assessment then?"

"It's chaos, sir! We have to get out of here!"

"To the exits then, man."

"But, sir – they're blocked."

"Every exit?"

"We don't know. But it seems so."

"Damn. Well, we can't just stay here. Get the wounded and get moving to the base level."

"The base level?"

"We'll check on the way. If we get down there and we can't leave, we're dead. If we find an exit along the way, good. Otherwise, I'm just hoping we can get out that way."

"It's risky, sir. Especially taking our wounded."

"We don't leave good men behind, you know that. I'm not looking their families in the eye and saying I chose to save myself quicker and left them to die."

"... I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry – start getting people. This is our best chance."

"Yes, sir."

"And don't worry – we're getting out alive!"

(_A conversation between a Peacekeeper commander and one of the lower Peacekeepers regarding the evacuation and escape of the miners and other Peacekeepers, during the destruction of the Nut in District 2. As the Commander had hoped, there was one empty exit at the bottom of the Nut. The subordinate and half of the men – including some of the wounded – successfully escaped and most went on to survive the rebellion. Many were killed by the rubble. The commander himself refused to leave until he had gotten everyone out safely. His body was never found._)

* * *

"Here's what it basically is, guys and girls. We're trapped in this building. If we go out the back, we're gonna be blown sky-high. If we go out the front, we'll be shot. Any questions?"

"Er ... what do we do then sir?"

"Glad you asked, soldier, glad you asked. I've been looking at this situation a bit and the way I see it is – let's go up."

"Up?"

"Yep. We'll climb onto the roof. Too high for them to shoot us and nothing to blow us up on that roof. We'll get to the next roof and then we'll see. One thing at a time."

"But, sir, won't they follow us?"

"_Hopefully_ not. But if they do, we just repeat the same trick. And remember – if you find anyone, shoot first and then ask questions. Our priority's survival, got it?"

"Er ... sir, what if they shoot at us? I mean, this is risky. Why don't me and maybe one or two others just go out and draw their attention away?"

"Because I don't leave good men and women behind. I'm not going back and telling your families that I chose to save myself and a few others and let the rest of you die."

"I'm sorry, sir."

"Don't be sorry, just get ready to move upwards. This is our best chance."

"Yes, sir."

"And don't worry – we're getting out alive!"

(_A District 13 squad and its commander in the Capitol. Having been chased into a house, the commander decided that the best chance of survival was via the rooftops. As the commander had hoped, the Peacekeepers didn't spot them switching buildings. However, one man was injured in the leap. Most of the squad made it to the District 13 hovercrafts and survived. The injured man was shot as he limped away. The commander was killed a second later, trying to help the man to safety. Their bodies were never recovered.)_


	43. Venia: Pen

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Hunger Games_.

**A/n:** I have just spent 8 hours writing about trusts of land having had one hour of sleep ... i hope this oneshot is more enjoyable than that...

43) Venia – Pen

It started with a drawing.

She had been sitting in class, concentrating, when the teacher had grabbed her piece of paper. The one she had been drawing a particularly lovely – if disproportionate and fabricated – depiction of the teacher on. He had held it up to demonstrate his disapproval of little girls who draw rude pictures of people and so shame her into seeing the error of her ways. The class, of course, thought it was brilliant and cheered her. School just works like that.

During recess, kids asked her to draw other things. What really impressed them was how much effort she put into her pictures. It certainly inspired her to continue.

The next day she had no paper but she was just as bored. So she started to draw on herself instead. Once again, the teacher was unimpressed (though somewhat pleased that she had stopped drawing him) and, once again, kids asked her to draw for them. Since she had no paper, she drew on them. She was sent home for graffiti-ing her fellow students. Venia felt a strange surge of pride. Not every kid gets a new rule invented, just because of them.

In the boredom of home, she began to experiment on herself – make-up, hair, nails and so on. Her parents were unhappy that she had ruined the work her stylist had put in. They were even _more_ unhappy that most of what she had done did not come off easily (and probably the most unhappy about the fact that she had been sent home, but that is a mere side-issue in this story) and she went to school the next day with her new, faded creations. Once again, she became the most popular kid on the playground. Once again, she was sent home (for redesigning her fellow pupils. Probably more of a sub-clause of the original rule than a new one) where she proceeded to draw and redesign everything she could find. Her parents, understandably, were furious when they arrived home. Generally, parents like their walls to remain the same colour and pattern that they left them in that morning.

From then on, it became common knowledge that if you gave Venia a pen, she would draw on paper, tables, herself or her fellow students. If you didn't occupy her time, she would remake hair. If you gave her any kind of paint or make-up, she would attempt to alter the way you looked. This effectively meant she was sent home from school on a daily basis where she would pick up pens or other such items and carry on. Her parents gave up trying to stop her and simply indulged in some ink-proof covers for the house. They even started a brief, Capitol fashion.

* * *

At the age of eighteen, Venia left school. On impulse, she returned to the teacher who had first caught her drawing. She was somewhat more mature by now and less prone to randomly making nearby people into works of art, so she and the teacher got on amiably. It probably helped that time had faded her from his memory quite a bit so he only had a vague memory of her.

"So did I teach you anything?" the teacher asked after she had reminded him of who she was and he had realised that he had tried to repress the memory of her.

"Yes, sir."

"What, then?"

"You taught me that I'm most happy with a pen in my hand and a project to complete."

"Did I?" He sounded surprised. Venia had never shown the slightest interest in schoolwork. Even if he didn't remember much about her, that was certainly one thing that remained in his head.

"Oh, yes. In fact, I'm going to be a stylist. And it's thanks to you grabbing that picture off me."

"Picture?"

She smiled. "You probably don't remember. It's when I started getting sent home for drawing on people. It started with you taking a picture I drew away."

"Oh, right." He tried to think of something to say to this, and failed.

"So I just thought I'd come by and thank you, for inspiring me to do this." She smiled at him. "Without you, I'd never have realised how much I like to restyle."

"Um ... not a problem."

She grinned and handed him a pen.

"Just for you to remember me by, sir. Next time you see a kid drawing in class, give them that pen. They'll get better results."

He looked at the pen. "Right ... I'll remember that."

"OK. Bye!"

She left, smiling. Already, her hands were at her hair, twisting and curling. The most natural pose for her.


	44. Wiress: Rancid

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Hunger Games_.

**Review Reply to** Ren_a Pudding_ - Thanks for the review.

**Review reply to** _the person who didn't leave any form of ID when they reviewed (I assume you know who you are?)_ - Thanks for the review. Yep, that was the happy one. And yes, that was one of the points. Human nature doesn't generally change - just our perceptions of it - and that's what i wanted to get across by making the two societies similar.

**A/n:** Well, this is the last one. It's been a fun few months and i really enjoyed writing this. I only hope everyone who read it enjoyed it just as much. I just want to say thanks to everyone who reviewed, favourited it, put it on alert or just read along. I may not have sounded like it but you definitely cheered me up, especially when i was stressing about various essays :) So, for the last time, I hope you enjoy.

44) Wiress – Rancid

"This meat has gone off."

"It 'asn't. 'S fresh as a daisy, that is."

"It's rancid. Here, Wiress – wouldn't you say it's rancid?"

There is a moment of calm in her mind. The meat could be poisoned so she should back away. That's obvious. And this could be a trap. What's behind her? She should always have her back to a wall in a situation like this. Carefully, draw her knife. Knife, knife ... where's the knife?

"Wiress! Wiress!"

A jolt back to her senses. Voices flood through her mind. This is the market square. Not an arena. No one is trying to kill her here.

"Yes, sorry." She walks over to the two women. "What was the question?"

"This meat. Rancid or not?"

Wiress looks at it. "It does look a bit gone off to me," she says hesitantly.

"'S fresh!" the seller shouts, exasperated.

She jumps back, calculating the odds. If she turns around, she could end up with a blade in her back. She has to keep her opponent talking and maybe get a hit in when she's relaxed her guard.

"Wiress ... Wiress..."

"Huh?" She looks up. Her opponent is now just a meat seller looking at her very concernedly. She smiles nervously. "Sorry, got lost in my own thoughts."

"Maybe you should go lie down. I don't think you're looking too good."

"Yes, take some of my mea-"

"Ignore her, dear, otherwise you'll be poisoned." The buyer smiles at her. "Just go lie down."

It suddenly hits Wiress as to how very _loud_ it is in District 3. She can't hear anyone coming towards her and that's dangerous.

"Yes," she mutters, glancing around. "Yes, I think I'll do that. Thank you."

She walks away again. Automatically, her eyes scan every corner for a potential weapon-wielding tribute. She keeps listening, turning when she hears shouts or odd footsteps. People stare at her. She stares back out of the corner of her eye. If she's quick, she can get away...

She shakes her head again. Not the arena. This isn't the arena. This is District 3 where no one wants to kill her. She has to remember tha-

What was that noise?

She abandons all thought and simply runs into Victor's Village. Once in her house, she locks the door, panting.

"Wiress?" a voice shouts. "You home?"

"Yes."

"Did you get the lamb?"

"...No."

"Why not?"

She doesn't know what to say. "Sold out," she answers in the end.

"Oh." The voice sighs. "OK then. Maybe you can go tomorrow?"

"I'm busy tomorrow."

"OK. I guess I'll have to swing by on the way back from the factory."

She sits down, feeling disgusted with herself. She has survived the Hunger Games! Shopping shouldn't be a problem at all. She should go up to him and tell him that, actually, she _will_ go and buy the lamb. Right now in fact.

She doesn't move. She can't move. She can't go back out there because _they're_ out there. The people who will try to kill her. Even though she's perfectly safe. The whole idea is terrifying.

It's a good thing the cameras can't see her now, she thinks, because they wouldn't believe the state which shopping has reduced Panem's newest victor to. After all, she thinks sourly: she can barely believe it herself.

**_Fin_**


End file.
